My Screwy Family
by portalkeeper
Summary: [COMPLETE!! Sequel to 'My Mommy and Daddy'] Set in 2019. Angie contines to grow up. Eventually B/S.
1. August 24, 2019

A/N: Here's the sequel! People will start showing up in a few chapters.

August 24, 2019

Another diary. I haven't written in one of these since…well, since my 8th birthday. Thought I'd give it a try again.

Truth is, weirder stuff than usual has been going on. The mortality rate in Sunnydale increased dramatically in the past week, going from the usual 6 or 7 deaths a week to 53. That's pretty bad, even for this town.

I never really noticed all the weird stuff going on. Well, I noticed, but like most of Sunnydale, I didn't really focus on it. Sure, people were occasionally found with neck injuries and missing viscera, or not found at all, but didn't that happen everywhere?

Apparently not. Last school year, I did a research paper on accident and mortality rates. Found out Sunnydale had the leading death rates in the state of California, not to mention the whole frigging US. Maybe even the world. 

That reminds me. School starts up again in a little more than two weeks. Sure hope sophomore year won't be too much of a drag.

Dad says Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander are coming over for dinner. Which means I have to wake up Aunt Dawn and get her to drive to the grocery store. Gotta remind her to pick up Twinkies. 

Later,

Angie


	2. August 25, 2019

August 25, 2019

I feel so weird just writing down random stuff. Guess I'll do all the introductions.

I'm Angela Joyce Summers, named for an uncle in LA and my maternal grandmother. I'm 5'4", with long blond hair and blue eyes. I'm 15 and a teenager, perfectly capable of staying out past 6 PM on a school night. Too bad no one seems to realize that but me.

Honestly, I have the weirdest, most screwed-up family. Of my blood relatives, there's just Aunt Dawn and Dad. Possibly a grandpa somewhere. Although Uncle Angel might also be kin. And Dad once said that we had a lot of blood relations on his side. But none of them have ever come to visit, that's for sure.

Mom passed away when I was 8. Car crash, that's what they said. Then one time in his sleep Dad said something about teeth or lips or something from Hell. Right. Anyway, Grandma Joyce also passed away, but way before I was born. I don't really remember her.

What am I saying? I don't remember her at all. Because I never saw her. Right.

Right? If so, why can I remember a gentle lady with curly honey-colored hair and warm brown eyes, sitting next to a younger version of Grandpa Hank? Talking anxiously to a white-coated doctor while Mom sat on a chair with a blank look on her face? A dream. Just like when I thought she stood inside a dilapidated office in the high school, talking to Mom. Just dreams.

Anyway. Dad doesn't have any relatives. Or maybe he does and none of them shows up. Ever. Only Uncle Angel, and I don't even know their relationship. I think he and Mom were friends. But Dad doesn't like to talk about Mom. And he doesn't like Uncle Angel all that much. So best not to bring the two of them up in one sentence.

I think Uncle Angel's a private investigator or something, 'cause he gets all these weird cases. And his son Connor is pretty cool. I used to have a crush on him, but that is SO over.

Besides, he's totally into Aunt Dawn. Which would be seriously icky if we were really related.

Uncle Angel's married to Aunt Cordy. She's great; every time we're in LA she takes me shopping. And the Aunt Fred makes me eat so much that I practically burst out of the new clothes I just spent a fortune on. After we get back from LA, I can't look at fried foods for a month without barfing. Aunt Fred's nice, really, but a little pushy when it comes to her cooking. She's so totally head-over-heels with Uncle Gunn, and they're both like, 40! Yeah, it's sweet, but still!

The people in LA that work for Uncle Angel are all really cool. Uncle Wesley works with Uncle Giles…sort of. I think. I think he got fired a long time ago, but got reinstated or something. Not hard to do, since he's friends with Uncle Giles, who is the president or whatever of his company. Connor once told me that one of Uncle Angel's friends owns a _bar_. And that his dad lets him go there _all the time_. That is so not fair! I probably won't be allowed to set foot in a bar until I'm like, 30.

Well, then again, Connor's about 30 or something. Late twenties, whatever. According to Aunt Cordy, his step-mom, Connor was born in 01. But he sure doesn't look 18. I think she was joking.

That's another weird thing. Uncle Angel doesn't look really old. If Connor's about 30, then he'd have to be like, over 50. Or if Connor's only 18, he'd still have to be at least 40. Still, Uncle Angel doesn't look anywhere near those ages; he looks more like Connor's brother than his Dad.

But then again, the last time I saw them was two years ago. Maybe he looks older now. Dunno.

Here in Sunnydale, my family is just as weird. Aunt Dawn still lives with us, which is slightly strange in itself. She's 33, for crying out loud! She should be married or at least living with her boyfriend. As much as I love having her around, it gets really weird at times. Sometimes people think she's my mom or something. But it's not like I can say she's my cousin's girlfriend.

Eww!

Anyway, Aunt Dawn says she just doesn't want to take on the responsibility of getting her own house (as if she doesn't want to snuggle up in an apartment with Connor and do perverse acts I can imagine quite well, thanks to Aunt Anya), and that she likes living in her old room. But I think she stays because of Dad. I remember when Dad told me bedtime stories and gave me piggyback rides. When he and Mom would keep everyone up half the night doing God-knows-what. And now, I think I finally _do_ know. Eww! Bad mental images! Anyhow, he changed a lot after Mom died. No more disgusting noises in the middle of the night, for one.

Sorry, bad joke. Must be hanging around Uncle Xander and Jesse too much. Truth is, nothing about Dad during the first few months was funny. He wouldn't talk to anyone or come out of the basement. Just locked himself in for months. 

Now that I think about it, that doesn't really seem feasible, does it? Maybe my 8-year-old mind just forgets or overlooks details.

Anyway, he stayed in there until one day Aunt Dawn got sick and tired of it. She got Aunt Faith to kick down the door and then I remember her screaming at Dad for what seems like hours. Then she told Aunt Faith (who was keeping me company upstairs) to go to the butcher's shop. I only remember that because at the moment it just seemed so totally random. I mean, honestly, who went to the butcher's at a time like that?

Well, I guess that just proves what a screwed-up family I have.

But then again, not my _whole_ family is that screwy. I mean, Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander, they're pretty normal. She's a computer wiz at Sunnydale Finances and he works construction. Very normal. I can't say the same for Jesse, of course, but that's not unexpected. He was shorter than me for almost as long as I remember, then suddenly the kid sprouted something like two feet overnight. At least his voice is still squeaky. Ha.

Well, then there's Aunt Faith. I'd say she counts as pretty normal. You know, no sun allergies or special dietary requirements, for one. And there's that great wardrobe she has. I've secretly borrowed a few outfits from time to time for certain parties. Anyway, she's completely cool. Aunt Faith does have a slightly unhealthy penchant for staying out the whole night (and probably jumping the bones of anything with a pulse) though. I don't know exactly how old she is, just that she's a little older than Aunt Dawn. And still, she wears great clothes.

Aunt Anya is also pretty normal. Okay, okay, not so normal. She only pops up every year or two, and tells me lots of stories that I think have seriously corrupted my mind. In two different ways. First of all, I think I was the only girl in my 5th grade class to know all parts of the male anatomy. And I was pretty sure I was also the only one who knew what "evisceration" meant as well as how it was done.

Oh well, that's pretty much it for now.

More later,

Angie


	3. August 28, 2019

A/N: Angie will get a clue before the year's over, don't worry. But for now, it's way too fun to think up scenarios of awkwardness brought on by the not-knowing naïveté. And I promise B/S in the future.

August 28, 2019

The strangest, most icky thing happened last night. Seriously, considering my screwed-up life, this has surpassed even my family's weirdness factor.

It was dinnertime, just Aunt Dawn, Dad, and me. It was Aunt Dawn's turn to cook, so I had just ordered a pizza after tossing out her new "invention". Absolutely sickening, peanut butter and sushi with ketchup. Ugh.

We were drinking hot chocolate, but without the little marshmallows, it just wasn't the same. Of course, it wasn't me who had tried to microwave them with mustard and tomato slices last week.

I was trying to get Dad to let me get my hair cut really short, bleached, and spiked. Just to try a new look. 

And maybe to impress this hottie I've seen at the Bronze a few times, who I had found out would be going to Sunnydale High when school started.

Aunt Dawnie started to laugh when I mentioned bleaching my hair. She said she could help with that; she'd certainly had enough experience. I think she was talking about Dad, but he doesn't go for that whole peroxide and leather look anymore, at least not for the last 7 years.

Dad was flat-out against it. Started giving me a lecture about being conservative and modest and whatnot. Sometimes I think he was born in the Victorian era. The way he goes on sometimes, you'd think a miniskirt was a scandal and wearing a shoulder-less top among the 7 deadly sins. Sheesh. I knew I should've just listened to Aunt Faith and got my hair done first before bringing it up. I sulked upstairs.

The door rang at around 8. I thought it was the pizza guy, but no, it was Jamie. Jamie, my friend who had gotten hips and boobs at the age of 12, way before the rest of us. Jamie, who was always known to be more than a little boy-crazy. 

Jamie Hope, my best friend who had never met my dad. 

Aunt Dawn let her in.

She came because she'd left her purse at my house after our last shopping excursion. Which was during the day. She'd only ever come over during the daytime, because like many parents in Sunnydale, the Hopes were overtly paranoid about letting their kids walk the streets at night. We'd had some slumber parties, but those were never at my house, due to my not wanting all my friends to become acquainted with my nutty family.

So anyway, Aunt Dawn was all like, oh, do stay for the pizza, which will get here any moment now. So then Jamie walks into the kitchen, and her jaw totally hits the ground. At first I thought it was some weirdness I had forgotten about and was thinking of excuses when I noticed what she was staring at. My DAD! 

I was looking to Aunt Dawn for help, but then the pizza guy _did_ get here and she had to go pay. So I was left with two of my favorite people in the world. And also left with an overwhelming desire to hurl.

Jamie was totally checking him out.

The most disgusting moment of my life. My best friend, a 15-year-old girl, checking out my 40-something father. I could tell Dad was getting somewhat uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, looking at the clock, whatnot. And then…then…

__

Jamie kept on openly ogling Dad. Then she turned and whispered, still staring, "Angie, where'd you pick up the hottie? That's one great piece of eye-candy!" 

A whisper was way too loud in my house.

My face turned red and I practically saw Dad smirk. Oh God, no! That was truly the most mortifying moment of my life.

"Jamie," I hissed. "That's my dad!"

"Uh-huh," she said absently. I could tell from her gaze that she was paying absolutely no attention to what I was saying. Probably to busy mentally undressing my father.

I yanked my best friend away from the kitchen, much to her chagrin. 

"Angie, we're best buds. How come you never told me you had such a cute boyfriend? Looks like a college guy, no less." 

My face flushed again. "Jamie, that's not_ my boyfriend. I'm boyfriend-less. That's—"_

"Listen to me. We're supposed to tell each other this stuff, right? I mean—"

"Jamie, missing the point? Not. My. Boyfriend."

She pouted. "Okay, fine. Wait a sec. Does your dad know there's a totally gorgeous hunk sitting in his kitchen? Look at those cheekbones, those deep blue eyes. And I bet his—"

"JAMIE!" I wasn't going insane. No way. Why should it matter that bad, bad mental images were flooding my mind, courtesy of Aunt Anya? Everything was fine. It wasn't like Dad could hear us talking all the way over here. "Get a grip. That's my dad."

The expression on her face was priceless.

I'm just really grossed out. I don't think I'll ever look at Jamie the same way again. Or my dad.

Now that I think about it, Dad _does_ look young. Not college-age, like Jamie said, though. But definitely not Dad-age. Not to have a teenage daughter. Hmm. Wonder what's up with that?

I'm hungry. But there's no way I'm going to go snag leftover pizza downstairs. I can still remember Dad's suggestive quips after Jamie left. Enough icky-ness to last a year.

I mean, Dad's not cute. No way. He's…_Dad_. Strictly a sexless parental unit. Not cute.

Although I can see why Jamie might think that…

Eww! Okay, more later, when I'm no longer so disgusted with myself.


	4. August 31, 2019

August 31, 2019

School supplies. Urgh. That's today's agenda, why Aunt Dawn woke me up at barely the crack of dawn. Okay, okay, maybe a little later, but this is summer break! I'm supposed to sleep like the dead until past noon! 

Tell Aunt Dawn that.

At least I can purchase some new clothes, maybe get my dear Aunt Dawn to indulge her favorite niece.

__

Laden with bags from the local office supply store as well as the mall, Aunt Dawn and I drove back to the house, talking about random things like the weather.

When we pulled up into the driveway, I could see someone walking up to the door. A small blond woman wearing hideous pink leather pants and a shiny sequin top. 

Can you say slut-bag?

I got out of the car just as she rang the doorbell. And kept pushing the button, over and over again.

"Hey," I said. "Stop doing that. You're going to wake up my dad."

The girl turned around and smiled widely. "Hi. Do you know where Spike is? I must find Spike and let him ravish me."

I took a step back. There were several things wrong with this picture.

Number one, she was way too_ bright and bubbly._

Number two, her hair and makeup was too _perfect._

Number three, the way she talked…it just wasn't right. Especially what she was saying.

Number four, she was basically what I saw when I looked into the mirror in the morning, only way too perfect and bubbly and bright. With slight alterations in eye color and hair length, she could be me. Okay, she could be me on a perfect day where I spent hours on makeup and hair.

Number five, she was Mom.

That's when Dad opened the door, a blanket thrown over his head.

His features twisted in shock. "Buffy?"

That's when the girl who looked like Mom squealed happily and jumped into Dad's arms, effectively throwing him off-balance and causing them both to topple over into the shady interior of the house.

"Oh, Spike! Devour me!"

As if my life isn't insane enough…


	5. September 1, 2019

A/N: A little angsty.

September 1, 2019

Last night, after managing to disentangle the insane Mom look-alike, Dad called Aunt Willow. We spent the time waiting for Aunt Willow to show up restraining the eerie Mom döppleganger, keeping her off Dad. And I really didn't need to hear some of the things she said, some rather…interesting suggestions. What the hell was going on?

Well, apparently, she was a robot. Some sicko had built a robot that looked like Mom. Sounded like something out of a sci-fi TV show.

Aunt Willow came and shut the girl…robot, whatever, down. Very strange to see what looked like Mom hanging over the banister, staring blankly. Apparently, this robot had been destroyed. Or that's what everyone thought. Guess some sicko out there thought it would be neat to fix it up. 

But why was it so into Dad? I mean, I know they were in love and all, but still, the robot came on a little too strong.

The robot incident was somewhat of a mood-killer. Aunt Dawn went to her room, Dad went to his basement. So I went to bed.

Explanations would come in the morning.

__

A long hallway, all in white. I was walking, but it never seemed to end. Then faintly, I heard a noise. Something other than my own footsteps.

A voice was singing gently, a woman's voice. A sweet little tune.

"Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard the fair maid sing in the valley down below."

I turned and looked around. No one. But the song continued.

"Oh, don't deceive me." 

I walked faster.

"Oh never leave me."

The melody was haunting, sticking in my head. I broke into a run.

"How could you use a poor maiden so?"

A dead end! I'd reached a door, white on white. I pushed on it, then pulled and yanked hard. The door tore off its hinges.

I let it drop and stepped inside through the doorway. 

A bathroom, a familiar bathroom. Familiar and different at the same time. 

My_ bathroom. But not mine._

I was interrupting a conversation, but neither of the occupants seemed to notice.

"--you love me." Dad. So different-looking. Peroxide.

The woman in the bathrobe is trying to turn on the water in the tub. "No, I don't," she says sounding exasperated. That voice.

Mom! What did she mean? What was she saying?!

"Why do you keep lying to yourself?" Dad, always so persistent.

  
Mom spins around, angry. "How many times—" _She stops, calming down. "I have feelings for you. I do. But it's not love. I could never trust you enough for it to be love."_

Dad laughs, but there's a hint of sadness. "Trust is for old marrieds, Buffy. Great love is wild. And passionate and dangerous. It burns and consumes."

He sounded like the Dad I once knew, before we lost Mom.

"Until there's nothing left. Love like that doesn't last." God, why was Mom being such a bitch? Dad loved her. She loved him. Why doesn't she just admit it?

Dad turns and begins to pace. I recognize that he's getting frustrated, desperate.

"I know you feel like I do. You don't have to hide it anymore."

Mom rolls her eyes. "Spike, please stop this." She's belittling him, not giving him a chance.

Dad hates that.

"Let yourself feel it." Dad puts his hands around Mom's waist, pulling her closer. She usually loves it when he does this. Not this time. Mom pushes and pulls, struggling to break free.

"No…"

"You love me."

"Ow! No, stop it!" He's hurting her. He doesn't mean to, but…

Mom and Dad struggle. Dad is trying to kiss Mom while Mom keeps on trying to push him away. Mom's bathrobe rips.

"Spike, no—ow—what are you do—" Mommy falls backward toward the tub. She grabs the curtain, but it rips off and she hits her back against the tub. Dad doesn't even notice.

"Ow!" 

Dad is all over her, holding her down. Her grabs her face and continues trying to kiss her as she flails and struggles.

Dad, stop! Please.

"Let it go. Let yourself love me."

Mom is still struggling, still resisting. Dad tries to tear off the rest of her robe. His eyes are wild, determined. Crazed.

"No, stop it!"

  
"I know you felt it ... when I was inside you…" Dad, what in hell are you doing?!

Her robe is being torn.

Mom breaks away and crawls toward the door. But Dad is too quick. He grabs her ankle and pulls her back. Flips her over.

__

"No, ow, ow!" She's crying. "Please, please, Spike, please..."

No…

"You'll feel it again, Buffy—"

"Please don't do this…"  


"I'm gonna make you feel it."

He rips the front of Mom's robe open. Oh God, Mom!

Mom screams and struggles. "STOP!" She shoves him and Dad goes flying, crashing into the sink and wall. Mom gets up, holding her robe closed. Tears are still streaking down her cheeks.

"Ask me again why I could never love you."

__

Realization suddenly streaks across Dad's face. Horror.

Mom suddenly turns toward me, as if she can see me. "You see what he is? What he does?"

Mommy. Daddy.

I stumble back, passing through the wall. Away from that…that…

How could he…how could anyone_…_

Sure, I knew there were sickos out there, but…

I blinked. My surroundings had changed. No longer a hallway, but an elegantly furnished room. Straight out of a painting. People in suits and ballgowns talking, laughing, drinking champagne.

I begin to wander around, bumping into a waiter, a table. Hey, at least I'm solid in this one. 

"Hors d'oeuvre?" I jumped about a foot into the air. That waiter! He was talking to me! He could see me!

"N-no, thanks." I wander away from the loud gossip and laughter. Bumped into a couch. One which had someone on it.

"Oh! Sorry about that. Didn't see you…" I trailed off, realizing the person was completely oblivious.

It was a guy, young, maybe in his mid-twenties. Geeky-looking hair, wire-rimmed glasses. Wearing a suit and tie, like the rest of the guys here, wherever here happened to be. I really couldn't tell anything else, looking down at the top of his head.

"Luminous…oh no, no, no. irradiant's better." What was up with that accent? With all these people's accents? It sounded like a convention of Uncle Rupert-clones.

The same waiter that spoke to me approached. "Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?"

"Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for 'gleaming'? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go, but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see." Oh wow, what a geek! He was writing poetry. Do get a life!

The waiter smiles and goes away, practically rolling his eyes.

I'm about to walk away, but then the nerd looks up at a slutty-looking woman just coming in. I mean, really, how low can your collar go? And she looks all stuck up, like there's a stick up her ass. Don't know why, but I was not really liking this gal.

"Cecily…"

The geek turns back to his poem and scribbles quickly, then gets up and starts toward her.

I freeze, catching a look at his face. Oh, no. No way. Was this some distant ancestor or something? Had to be.

To think I came from such geeky roots.

My great-grandpa or something walks toward a group of other people who also seem to sport large sticks up their asses.

"I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind," the woman says. She looks like a rat.

One of the men turns to the geeky poet as he passes by.

"Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?" William_? Oh, you've got to be kidding me. My dad was named after a loser._

"I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. That's what the police are for." Now he sounds like he has a stick up his ass, too. "William" turns and looks at Cecily, who is just walking to the group. "I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty." Oh puh-lease. Getting girly isn't a great way to impress a girl.

The other man grabs the paper form "William". "I see. Well, don't withhold, William."

"Rescue us from a dreary topic," his pal added.

The nerdy poet has a deer-in-the-headlights look. "C-careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished—" Loser or not, the poor geek was getting bullied. I can't stand it when people get picked on. I began to walk up to the group.

__

"Don't be shy." He looks down at the paper. "'My heart expands—'tis grown a bulge in it—inspired by your beauty, effulgent.'" He laughs. "Effulgent?"

Okay, that's it mister. Everyone begins to laugh, ridiculing the poor geek. Cecily walks off and "William" trails after her like a lost puppy, after snatching the poem back.

"And that's actually one of his better compositions," one of the men mocks, still laughing.

__

"Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!" the woman cackles, sending her friends into another bout of laughter.

__

"It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"

I tap him on the shoulder. He turns around, surprised. Then his eyes drop slightly lower, checking me out.

"Don't mind—"

I swung my fist upwards, catching him under the jaw. And promptly sent him flying 15 feet, into a table. Okay, that's not exactly what I had in mind, but I guess it'll do.

A hush falls over those closest. "Hey, don't pick on people. It's not nice," I say as sweetly as I could to the man and woman still left. With that, I strode off to find my pathetic ancestor.

He's approaching the girl from before, who's sitting on a couch, fanning away.

"Cecily?" 

She turns and sighs when she sees him. What a little bitch. Maybe more ass-kicking is due for tonight.

__

"Oh. Leave me alone." What a disparaging tone. So stuck-up and self-centered. Now, where should I punch her?

__

"Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I."

__

"'You and I?'" She hesitates. "I'm going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand?"

He nods, hopeful.

__

"Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they?" Aw man, she's gonna totally turn him down.

"They're about how I feel."

__

"Yes, but are they about me?"

"William" gathers a deep breath, drawing courage. Oh crap, don't say it, don't say it, don't—

"Every syllable." Oh, crap!

__

"Oh, God!" She turns away, starting to fan herself furiously again.

__

"Oh, I know... it's sudden and... please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily." She's not worth it, man. She'll take your heart and totally stomp on it.

"Please stop!" Ouch.

__

"I know I'm a bad poet, but I'm a good man! And all I ask is that... that you try to see me—"

"I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William." She turns pitying eyes on him.

"You're beneath me."

The poor guy gathers up his poetry and flees out the door. 

Cecily, ever the evil bitch, rolls her eyes, gets up to go gossip with her little friends.

"Excuse me," I say sweetly. She turns around, stares me up and down. A moment before I can sock her in the jaw, the scene changes again. The same woman is before me, but she's wearing a plain gray dress now, hair down, in twenty-first century style. Wearing a pretty purple pendant with flecks of gold.

"Oh, you're a pretty one." Her voice is no longer haughty, or even British at all. "Tell me, do you feel somewhat neglected? How's the family treating you? Any…wishes you'd like to make?"

I took a step back. "What?"

"You know, something you don't like, maybe want to change?"

"Who the hell are you?"

The woman laughed patronizingly. Okay, maybe I was gonna have to sock her after all.

"Oh, how rude of me. You can call me Hallie, dear."

I frowned. "Your name isn't Hallie. That nerd—I mean, that nice guy a moment ago—called you Cecily."

She sighed, rolling her eyes in the way that made me want to punch her into next week.

"Dear, dear. That's not me. That wasn't real. A memory. I'm real, I'm here."

My turn to roll my eyes. "This is my dream. Nothing's real. Now go away and let me dream in peace."

She gave e a sly grin. "Of course, dearie. Your wish is my command. Anytime you need anything…well, just give Hallie a call."

She dissolved in a flash of light. 

I landed on my butt in a dark alley. Another familiar alley, behind the Bronze. 

Two people feet away, so close they're almost touching. A small blond woman, a man in a long leather coat with bleached hair.

"Spike…"

The man leans down to kiss the woman. She backs away, horrified.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mom. Mom and Dad.

Oh no. Not again. Was this like the bathroom scene? Was Dad so…

He grabs Mom's arms again.

"Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."

"Say it's true. Say I do want to." Mom, stop it. Stop leading him on.

She shoves him to the ground, staring at him with nothing but loathing and disgust.

"It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you."

Mom throws a wad of money at him.

"You're beneath me."

She turns and walks away.

Her words echo. Familiar words. But somehow I couldn't remember where they came from…

Dad begins to gather up the bills, trying not to sob. 

Tears.

Oh God.

The poet. William. That's what Cecily had said.

Dad closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. When his eyes open again, they're clouded with something I've never seen in Dad before.

Murderous rage. 

Oh God. 

I must have whimpered or made some small sound, because Dad suddenly whipped his head toward where I was hiding in the shadows.

"You see what she is? What she does?" A cruel echo of Mom's words from the bathroom.

My parents, how could they ever have been together? I had always thought them in love. The perfect dream couple.

They hated each other.

FLASH!

The hallway again.

Aunt Faith.

"Hey there, sweetie." She smiled, and I saw the lines around her eyes for the first time. Aunt Faith had always looked so young, so full of life. 

Now I could see that she had aged. Aged like all of them, like everyone around me.

Well, almost everyone.

"Aunt Faith, what are you doing here?"

She smiled again, but this time sadly. "Kid, you don't know where you are?"

I shook my head and a tendril of golden hair fell into my eyes.

Aunt Faith stepped closer. "This is where the waiting is done. I'm done. It's your turn now, Angie." She brushed my hair out of my face. "God, you look so much like B."

I was still confused. "What do you mean, Aunt Faith? My turn for what?"

Aunt Faith's smile turned to one of amusement. "You'll know soon enough." She winked. "Let me tell you something."

She leaned in close, to my ear. "A nighttime ceremony, if no one minds. And cremation is the way to go."

She pulled back, kissed me lightly on the forehead. "Good luck, kid."

I woke up, heart pounding loudly in my ears. What the hell was that?!

Such a vivid dream. Or series of dreams. But now I couldn't for the life of me recall what I was dreaming about. Just strange feelings toward both my parents. Disgust. Anger.

And Aunt Faith. Something she said. Something important...which I also couldn't remember.

What's wrong with me?


	6. September 2, 2019

A/N: Sorry with the lateness on the updates. I've been really busy with school, rehearsals for various orchestras, etc. I will update, just not as regularly as before. Sorry!

September 2, 2019

Major avoidance today, on everyone's parts. Dad and Aunt Dawn refused to talk about the robot. I refused to talk to Dad. Pretty evenly matched.

Halfway through breakfast, we got a call from Aunt Willow. Something about how Aunt Faith wasn't home, which is really strange for her. I mean, she's usually asleep this early in the day. At least until past noon.

Hearing Aunt Dawn take the call, I felt slightly queasy. Something was…off. Maybe it was the pancakes? They were slightly burnt and the new syrup tasted funny.

__

A nighttime ceremony, if no one minds. And cremation is the way to go.

Weird thought. Huh. Just popped into my head.

I'm going to go see a movie with Jamie today. Time to break the ice.

Exactly one week till school starts. Urg.

__

"Dracula_ is so overrated," I said. "I mean, what idiot prances around in a cape these days? Dead giveaway."_

"Yeah, Jamie agreed, sipping on her slushie. "Hey, wanna do something tomorrow? This was fun."

"Sure," I replied happily. "As long as we get home before sunset, that is. I can't go if I'm grounded."

"Mm," Jamie agreed. We picked up the pace, walking through empty back alleys. "Sure—Oomph!"

Jamie tripped over something. A large something lying in the shadows.

"What the hell was that?" Jamie demanded. She kicked the thing with her foot. The dull sound of impact on flesh resounded through the alley. "Oh. My. God…"

It was a body.

We tore out of there like the hounds of hell were at our heels. Two blocks away, common sense caught up.

"Wait," I gasped, stopping. I bent over, hands on my knees, drawing in air. "Shouldn't we…you know, call the cops? Tell someone what we found?"

Jamie's wild brown eyes gradually calmed. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

We called the police at the pay phone. And they told us to stay in the alley and wait until they can come to pick up the body. Were they insane?!

I wasn't going to stay there with Jamie, alone. Not with a body. And Jamie's parents were out of town.

I dialed collect.

No one answered on the first ring. Or the second. Or the thir—

"'Ello?" Groggy, grumpy, and definitely annoyed to be woken up before dusk.

I was never gladder to hear his voice.

I'm in Dad's big bed right now, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket and drinking hot chocolate. I don't know how to write this.

Aunt Faith is dead.

That was her body in the alley Jamie and I found. Her severely beaten, pale, bloodless corpse, with staring glassy brown eyes. 

The police said it had been a mugging.

Muggers don't bite people on the neck.

I don't know what happened to Aunt Faith, but it couldn't have been ordinary. I mean, Aunt Faith is…was extremely capable of taking care of herself. The only reasons I can think of are…well, ridiculous. Impossible.

Supernatural.

But that's not realistic. 

Is it?


	7. September 4, 2019

A/N: Next update in around a week. Buffy will show up soon.

September 4, 2019

I still can't believe Aunt Faith is gone. 

Okay, so she's always joked about kicking the bucket. Even said that one of these days her body will be found in some dark alley.

I didn't think she was literal. Or that she meant for _me_ to find it. 

Things are so strange right now. I love Dad, of course, but I keep getting these…feelings. Like I can't trust him, or that he'll turn on me, or something equally silly. And then there are physical sensations I feel when I'm around him. Like something crawling up the back of my neck. Not unpleasant, exactly. Just…strange.

When Uncle Angel and his family came down for Aunt Faith's funeral, I felt the same way. Same tingles.

But that doesn't even compare to the dreams I've been getting. Always the same exact dream, over and over until I wake up.

__

A school library.

I walk in, because there is no other choice. Nowhere else to go.

"Hello? Is anybody here?" I ask. Looking around the seemly deserted, darkened chamber, I see locks of blond hair swing by. Hair shorter than mine. I glimpse a skirt I would never be caught dead in.

I look over at the checkout counter and see a newspaper. And I can never see the date. There's a circled picture, with the caption "Local Boys Still Missing."

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I spin around, my heart racing, even though this always happens, every time. And as usual, I cannot see who the person is. A blurry face connected to a body dressed in tweed.

"Ooo! Anybody's here," I quip lamely. Same joke, every time. Gets a little bland with the repetition.

"Can I help you?" the man asks. A very familiar, very upper-crust British accent. Yet for some reason I can never recall just whose voice it is upon waking. 

"I was looking for some, well, books. I'm new." But I'm most definitely not_ new. I've gone to Sunnydale High since last year. Although since I didn't recognize the settings, I probably _was_ new._

"Miss Summers?" And every time, he somehow knows my name. I don't know how or why, as I am certainly not me_. Not in this dream. I feel like I'm living someone else's life, doing what they've already done._

"Good call! Guess I'm the only new kid, huh?" Strange to open my mouth and have these words fall out, ever so naturally. But the point is it's not_ natural; there is absolutely nothing natural about this at all._

"I'm the librarian. I was told you were coming." That is most definitely strange. I mean, who tells librarians about new students? The man walks behind the counter, reaching for something.

"Great! So, um, I'm gonna need 'Perspectives on 20th Century—"

"I know what you're after!"

The man pulls out a really big, old-looking book. Inscribed on the cover was the word "VAMPYR". It thunks down on the table and dust flies.

Then the voices start. A chorus of different female voices, in different languages, from different times. Different ages, different tongues. Always the same message.

"In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer."

Then the dust would dissipate and I would be in the desert. Cold, desert night. Chained to the ground. The beating of drums or something in the background. And fear would rise in me. Searching wildly for an escape, I see dirty, tangled black hair. Strips of rags covering my body.

Not me. 

But whoever I was, it is always too real. Too real, the fear piercing my heart as I see a hovering cloud of black mist surge closer.

When the fear overcomes me, everything fades gradually and I hear Aunt Faith, sounding exasperated. "C'mon, sweetie. I told you I wanted to be cremated. How could you forget, Angie?"

That's when I always wake up. I don't know what it means. I don't recall any details, except for Aunt Faith's message. 

I can't help thinking about the fact that her body is rotting in a coffin six feet under the ground right now. She probably doesn't want that. Probably wanted to be stored in a pretty ceramic jar where the worms won't get her.

What am I saying? I don't know what Aunt Faith would have wanted. She's gone. And dead people do not communicate through dreams.

Do they?

I can't wait to start school; can't wait to get my mind somewhere else.


	8. September 8, 2019

September 8, 2019

I'm going insane.

At least I got a different dream last night. Well, I got the repeating nightmare first, then a few minutes before I woke up, I got something new. A disturbing dream about Aunt Faith.

__

"Hey, Angie, baby."

"Aunt Faith."

She smiled crookedly, gave a little twirl. "Yeah, well, that's me."

She looked younger, only a few years older than me. Her dark hair went past her shoulders and bounced when she moved. She was paler than I remembered, lacking her customary bronze glow. And she wore an outfit of black leather with dark red lipstick.

She kept looking at me expectantly, as if she was waiting for me to make some sort of comment.

"You're looking good," I said at last, the silence becoming too awkward.

She grinned. "Well, that's what being dead does for you, I guess."

I shook my head. I thought dying just made your body decompose. "I'm sorry."

Aunt Faith laughed. She threw back her head and laughed.

I frowned. "That wasn't very funny."

Aunt Faith stopped laughing. She took a moment. "Angie, I'm not sorry. I'm five by five."

Her face mutated. Ridges grew on her forehead. Her eyes turned a predatory yellow.

"I'm glad you forgot to cremate my body," the…thing…Aunt Faith turned into growled.

She lunged at me, almost in slow motion.

I threw my hands up to protect myself. And felt a long, wooden object materialize in my right hand.

Aunt Faith saw it too, too late. She impaled herself on it. And as I watched in shock and disbelief, she slowly disintegrated, crumbling to dust.

What had I done?

I really think I'm crazy. I mean, how can I imagine such things about Aunt Faith? She's Aunt Faith, for crying out loud! My very cool, very chic aunt Faith. Was I such a twisted person to imagine her in this way?

I wanted to tell someone, anyone, about these disturbing dreams. I mean, Aunt Faith turned into some sort of monster in the last one. And I destroyed her.

But I can't tell anyone. They would lock me up or think I'm a horrible person to even imagine such atrocities. I _am_ a horrible person.

School starts tomorrow.


	9. September 9, 2019

A/N: Real action is going to start soon! Updates won't be very frequent, unless I am hit with sudden bouts of inspiration or have an abnormal lack of homework. R & R!

September 9, 2019

I am so glad school starts at last. Anything to keep my mind away from those horrible dreams.

I ate Dad's chocolate pancakes, which have never seemed to taste so good before. Aunt Dawn's going to drive me to school in a little while. I haven't felt this excited in a long while.

Gotta go now; Aunt Dawn is ready.

__

Sunnydale High School. Rebuilt six years ago, on the very grounds of the one that had blown up in 2012. And that very same one had been built on the grounds of the very first Sunnydale High, which had been destroyed in June of 1999. Must be a coincidence. Huh.

"I can't pick you up right after school," Aunt Dawn was explaining. "So you can either walk home or give me a call at 6. I'll pick you up then."

"Alright, Aunt Dawn. Bye."

"Try not to hang around weird people. Or shifty-looking people. Or cheerleaders. Or—"

"It's okay, Aunt Dawn. I'll be safe." Jeez. The over-protection in my family.

I stepped out of the car, into the California sun.

Walking up to the steps, I saw Jesse talking to a few of his friends and waved. He waved back and jogged over.

"Hey, Angie, looking good." He scanned me from head to toe.

I rolled my eyes and punched him gently on the shoulder. "Shut up."

"Ow!" Jesse clutched his shoulder and looked hurt. "What did you do that for, Summers? I was only joking."

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to hit you hard."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Hey, did you hear about the new band teacher? Some English chick." We walked into the school, still talking.

"What happened to Mr. Walden?" I asked.

Jesse shrugged again. "Don't know. Maybe he quit. Or maybe he 'disappeared' like half the people in this town."

"That's not funny."

He nodded sheepish. "I know. Listen, I'm real sorry about Aunt Faith—"

"Don't be," I said, much more sharply than I'd intended. "She's five by five."

I brushed past him and entered the band room to await the bell for first period to start. His words had reminded me again of my nightmares. And just when I was getting used to this semblance of normalcy, too.

I sat down on a plastic chair, only realizing the emptiness of the room after several minutes. Then there was a rustling in the small music office.

"Hello?" I said hesitantly. "Anybody here?"

I walk slowly over to the office, glancing at the paper lying on the ground just outside it. An article was circled on the front page. A picture. And a caption. "Faith Morgan found." 

Faith, Aunt Faith.

Now pissed off, I reached for the doorknob, about to yank it open when—

The door opened. Inside was a woman in her late thirties, wearing a starched white blouse and tweed skirt. Brown hair pulled back tightly in a severe bun, wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

"Can I help you?" British accent, like Uncle Rupert's.

This was the new band teacher.

"Uh, hi. I thought I heard something. I'm Angela Summers; I'm in this class first period?"

"Oh!" The woman straightened immediately. "I'm Natalie Robson. The band teacher." She paused, glanced around conspiratorially. "If you have a moment, Miss Summers, please come into my office."

Feeling a slight déjà vu, I followed her into the cramped space. My eyes scanned the neat, organized desk and the bookcases, filled with old-looking books with strange covers, not the usual sheet music.

"Miss Summers, you are a very special girl. You are the Chosen One."

The Chosen One? 

"Chosen?" I said dumbly. "Chosen for what? I don't think I applied for any—"

"'In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer,'" Ms. Robson said, as if quoting something from memory. "Miss Summers, there are things out there, evils more horrible than you can possibly imagine. You have a destiny. A sacred duty to battle evil."

Thoughts reeled through my head. "What? No, no. I don't know what you're talking about," I protested.

Ms. Robson stared into my eyes. "That isn't exactly true, is it? This town, this town is over the Hellmouth. A force of darkness that attracts all sorts of supernatural phenomenon. You've witnessed some of its horrors firsthand. All the deaths and missing persons, those are not ordinary. You are not ordinary. Angela, you're special. You have special gifts…special powers. Surely you've felt them in the past few days."

"Gifts? Powers? I don't know what you're talking about."

She peered at me even more closely through her wire-rimmed glasses. "Are you sure? No extraordinary strength or reflexes? No unusually vivid dreams? No…"

I tuned her out. Vivid dreams. Nightmares.

"I've had dreams," I blurted out. "I thought it was just me, that I was going insane or something. I dreamed about walking into a library every night for the past week, almost. I'm in this school library and the librarian shows me a book with the word 'VAMPYR' on it."

I blurted out everything in a rush, afraid of saying it out loud, but relieved at the same time.

I almost wished for what she told me to be true. Because then, those dreams were because of an outside source. Not my fault.

Ms. Robson was staring at me with wide eyes as I rushed through my tirade. She began to clean her glasses furiously as I finished.

"Miss Summers, those dreams were prophetic dreams, of things to come. They will not plague you unless there is something of utmost importance in the future. In this case, discovering your destiny." 

I was quiet for a moment. "So I'm this 'Slayer' girl. How do you know? And who the hell are you, anyway?"

She looked a bit taken aback by my words. "I am your Watcher, assigned to you, Miss Summers, by the Council of Watchers. The Council works with the Slayer; it always has and it always will. I am here to help you prepare and train to battle the forces of darkness."

I nodded. "Fine, okay, say all that's true. What exactly are these 'forces of darkness' I'm supposed to fight?"

"All varieties of supernatural occurrences are drawn to or happen at the Hellmouth. Specifically speaking, you are the Vampire Slayer. Your job, Miss Summers, is to destroy vampires. Of course, there are other demons, supernatural phenomenon, maybe even an apocalypse."

"Apocalypse_?! As in the end of the world?"_

Ms. Robson nodded patiently. "Correct."

Right…

"When you say 'vampires', do you mean bloodsucking people who sleep by day and talk with funny Transylvannian accents? People who change into bats and wear cheesy capes?"

Ms. Robson sighed. I bet she would have rolled her eyes if she weren't British.

"Miss Summers, those are vampires of folklore. Real vampires are simply animated corpses who drink blood to survive. They are soulless monsters, lower than the lowest of beasts. Vampires are incapable of emotion, given completely to violence and bloodlust. When a person is changed into a vampire, his soul departs and all that is left is a demon parasite in an animated corpse with its host's memories. But nothing more. That is why it is your job to slay them."

I frowned. That sounded really biased, almost like racist propaganda. "How do you know that vampires are so very bad and all? Can't they be good?"

Ms. Robson practically glowered. "The undead do not have souls. Being soulless creatures, they are automatically evil, with no possibility of being good."

She continued to give me lectures on just how bad all demons are, yadda, yadda, yadda. Just because someone isn't human, of course they're evil and should be killed. 

Do put a sock in it, Ms. Robson. Finally, saved by the bell.

As she let me out of her stifling office, Ms. Robson gave me one last look. "I'll see you after school, Miss Summers."

I didn't pay any attention for the rest of the school day. If Ms. Robson wasn't a crackpot, then she was probably telling the truth, at least about the me being the Slayer part. Which meant I was somehow supposed to fight big bad evil thingies.

And then I remembered Aunt Faith. Her drained corpse. The marks on her neck.

I felt something rise within me. Something scary.

Whatever had killed her, be it muggers or vampires, would pay.

When last period was over, I talked to my friends, checked out a few clubs, anything to have an excuse to be late to see Ms. Robson. What a stuck-up bitch.

Unfortunately also my only chance to avenge Aunt Faith and possibly prevent other people from losing loved ones.

I walked into the band room at a little past 6.

Ms. Robson was waiting expectantly.

"Well?"

I ignored her attitude. "When you said the Chosen 'One', do you mean that there is only one slayer in the whole world?"

She nodded. "Exactly."

"So what happened to the one before me?"

Ms. Robson's eyes drifted to the newspaper on the desk in front of her. I couldn't see the article she was glancing at, being at the wrong angle.

"She was killed in action."

The words were spoken without inflection. Like an ordinary comment on the weather.

"How can you just say that?" I demanded. "Someone died!"

Ms. Robson sighed, folded the paper. "All Slayers die, most in action. They are heroes, born to defend. It is only fitting for them to die in battle." She frowned. "Your predecessor has outlived her usefulness. No other Slayer has ever survived so long, in the history of the Council."

I frowned. "And how long was…how old was she?"

"38."

"38?! And that's old_? How long do Slayers usually live?"_

"Most Slayers last two or three years at most, from when they are called. The Council has hypothesized that perhaps the extended lifetime of this particular Slayer had to do with an anomaly: the existence of two Slayers at once. Both Slayers are currently deceased, but it should be noted that they each lived over their thirties. A feat never before accomplished."

The way she spoke of Slayers, as if they were just tools, was unnerving me. But I still had questions. "How could there be two Slayers at once? I thought you said the only way for the next one to be called is if one Slayer dies."

Ms. Robson smiled grimly. "Both Slayers have died multiple times, Miss Summers."

I furrowed my forehead, not understanding. So they were resurrected or something? Brought back to life? 

My thoughts flashed immediately on Aunt Faith. Then Mom. God, I wished someone had brought them back. I wish I knew witches with the power to bring back the dead. Maybe then my life wouldn't be so screwed.

But I couldn't bring anyone back. All I could do was take vengeance. Wipe out Aunt Faith's killers, one by one.

"So what do I do?" I asked finally.

Ms. Robson smiled, a genuine smile for the first time. "First—"

Brr-ring! Brr-ring!

My cell phone. I quickly flipped it open, shooting Ms. Robson an apology.

Brr-ing! Brr—

"Hello?"

"Angela Joyce Summers! Where the bloody hell have you been?! Do you have any idea how worried we've all been?!"

"Uh, hi Dad." Uh-oh. It was past 7. Way past my curfew. And I'd forgotten to call home to check in!

"Where. Are. You?" Even bigger uh-oh. Dad had gone from screaming at me to using that deadly serious voice he uses only when somebody's in big trouble. 

"I'm…I'm at school."

"And what exactly are you doing there at this hour, young lady?"

I gulped. Looked at my new Watcher. She shook her head.

"Re-rehearsing. For band."

A pause.

"Dawn is coming to pick you up in 10 minutes. And put your teacher on the line."

"Okay. Just a sec."

I covered the mouthpiece, turned the volume on the phone down.

"My dad wants to talk to you," I whispered. "He's slightly overprotective, just so you know."

My Watcher nodded and took the phone.

For several minutes I saw her face display a wide variety of emotions, her face turn from red to white to red again.

Finally, she muttered a, "Yes, I am truly very sorry, sir," and clicked the phone off.

There was a slight pause.

"Um, I better get going. Aunt Dawn's probably gonna get here soon." I picked up my backpack.

"Oh. Yes, yes you should. Miss Summers? I don't believe I need to inform you of the absolute secrecy of our activities and the hours it requires."

I nodded, not really understanding. "So you mean…"

"Tonight. You must meet me at Restfield Cemetery tonight so that you can learn to destroy the forces of evil."

"Tonight?! I really, really can't. Even now, I'm probably grounded for a year or two. You've seen how my dad is. There's no way I can sneak out tonight."

Ms. Robson's face flushed again. "Yes, your father used some rather…colorful…expletives. And some vivid descriptions I shall consider as failed attempts at humor rather than as threatening." She paused. "He is British, no?"

I cracked a grin. "So you see why I can't sneak out?"

Ms. Robson grew serious once more. "Angela, you must_. It is your sacred duty to fight evil, despite intervention. Nothing can take precedence over your Slayer duties."_

I bit my lip and sighed. "All right. I'll try. Where should I meet you?"

I had the strangest day. Apparently I'm some "special" girl, chosen to fight evil. Usually, I would have laughed in the face of anyone who said that to me, but this isn't a normal day.

Aunt Faith was killed by one of these things. These vampires that I'm born to fight.

That's why I'm planning to sneak out in another hour. My first patrol.

When I got home today, Dad was really pissed off. He gave me several lectures on my duties and responsibilities (so ironic, since the only reason I stayed out "late" was because I had responsibilities), then settled for grounding me for a month and taking away privileges. And curfew was lowered to 5, or whenever I got out of school, whichever came first. 

Now I feel bad, even though it totally wasn't my fault. But it wasn't like I could just tell him and Aunt Dawn that I'm the Slayer. They wouldn't understand; heck, they'd probably send me to an asylum, or at the very least ship me off to boarding school.

Having a secret sacred duty sucks.


	10. September 10, 2019 Part 1

A/N: A lot of people have had questions regarding Giles' position and the whole 'keeping secrets' aspect. Both will be addressed soon!

September 10, 2019

It's about 3 in the morning now as I write this. School starts in less than 5 hours.

That little patrol was so _not_ cool.

Okay, when the clock hit midnight (which I've never stayed up until), my alarm went off. It was set so low I could barely hear it, but I had to do that so no one else heard. I listened for any sounds, but could only hear Aunt Dawn shifting every once in a while. The house was as still as a tomb, otherwise.

I climbed out through my window (I had no idea how perfectly situated my window is for sneaking out) and jumped down from the low roof without any problems. Huh, guess those Slayer reflexes really are there.

Anyway, I got out of the house without detecting any movement from within.

Creeping over to Restfield Cemetery, I saw my Watcher waiting among the graves like she was in line at the supermarket or something. Just as composed in her customary tweed getup as I was in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

She started lecturing me about being punctual (we'd set the time for 12:15), then handed me a long pointy wooden stick and told me that one way to kill vampires was through a stake to the heart. Sounded a little superstitious (as well as icky) to me.

But holding the weird stick (stake, whatever), I felt another sense of déjà vu. I had seen these things before, that was for sure. 

While Ms. Robson told me about other ways to kill vampires, I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. At first I panicked and thought it was Dad or something, until I saw the hand break through the soil of a fresh grave.

I stood there sort of awkwardly, staring at the otherwise normal-looking young man as he tried to get out of the earth. He looked really normal, in a dirt-caked black suit. Well, normal except for the glowing yellow eyes and bumps on his forehead. 

He climbed out and didn't rush to attack me, the way Ms. Robson had said he would. I didn't rush to attack, either.

Then the weirdest thing. The man cocked his head and looked at me, then a smile broke out over his disfigured face.

And he said something like, "Hey, you're that Summers girl, right? What are you doing here?"

I recognized the voice. Albert, who should have been a senior in Sunnydale High. The kid who I had a major crush on ever since I saw him at the Bronze in June.

I found myself blushing that he knew my name. I'd always thought he was so cool, with his punk style and devil-may-care attitude. Never thought he'd ever notice me. The stake dangled, forgotten.

"Uh, yeah," I said. "That's me."

Then he looked around, sort of confused. "What am _I_ doing here?"

"Well…uh…" I couldn't think of anything to say. What was I supposed to tell him?

Then of course, Ms. Robson had to butt in. "Angela, your stake?"

"Oh!" I'd totally forgotten.

He was evil; he'd kill people if I didn't kill him first. Evil, evil, evil, evil…

I stepped up and plunged the stake through his chest. "Sorry," I whispered.

He just kept looking at me quizzically. "I thought you liked me—"

And then he exploded in a dusty cloud.

I felt like a murderer. Still do.

The worst thing was when Ms. Robson started clapping and congratulated me on slaying my first vamp. This was what I was expected to do every night. Kill people whose faces I knew.

Ms. Robson said that few of them were like poor Albert. Most would attack me on sight, not stop to make friendly conversation. And it was extremely rare that I would run into a vampire I had known as a human. She said my job would get only easier.

That's what I'm afraid of. If I can just do this, just kill ordinary people—no, _vampires_, not people—who never did anything to me, how does that make me anything other than a serial killer? Well, Ms. Robson said that since vampires are already dead, I wasn't really killing them. But that doesn't make me feel any better. 

A Slayer is a killer.

And I'll be a killer for Aunt Faith.

Uh-oh. I heard a sound downstairs. I have to turn off the lights and go get what little sleep I can.


	11. September 10, 2019 Part 2

September 10, 2019—Later

I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning. I was so tired from last night, even more so because I couldn't sleep till around 5. Not to mention another dream that I had last night. Although I couldn't exactly remember all the details of this one. Or even the plot, really. And it felt way too much like being half-asleep than an actual dream.

__

Brr-ring! Brr—

"'Ello. What the—oh. Rupert."

A pause.

"A new Slayer? Where?"

Another pause.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

Silence.

"Some sodding system you wankers have set up. So the chain of communications has been severed and you have no bloody clue where either of them are…You don't even know who_ the new chit is?!"_

Another pause.

"Alright, alright, Rupes. I'll continue patrolling until you find her."

Click.

School was Hell. Although according to my Watcher, that's not exactly much of an exaggeration. Right after last period, I called home and told Dad I was staying for school rehearsal until 5. 

You would not believe what happened after school. I'd just walked into the band room and talked to Ms. Robson about what we were doing tonight, right? My Watcher mentions several new disappearances near Docktown. She hands me a crossbow and asks me to try it out, 'cause she's expecting to see a lot of vamps tonight and she says a crossbow is handier than a stake.

So I aim at the back corkboard, but totally miss when I heard this sudden noise from over by the timpani. So of course I jerk and accidentally impale the wall with a crossbow bolt.

Just missing one Jesse Harris, spying from behind the drums.

Ms. Robson was mad that our secrecy had been breached. I was ticked off that someone had managed to spy on me without my noticing, and that one of my close friends was now involved, of course. And Jesse was ticked that I didn't tell him about this.

After Ms. Robson's failed attempts to convince Jesse he hadn't really seen or heard what he had and my various apologies and excuses, we swore him to secrecy. Told him never to tell another soul. 

Really, my life is just great. I mean, it's not like Jesse wants to tag along tonight, maybe get himself killed.

Ha. Of course he wants to. He _insists_. What the hell have I gotten myself into? Jesse is going to get hurt or something, and I will have to explain it to Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander. Just great.

It's only Tuesday.


	12. September 10, 2019 Part 3

September 10, 2019—Even Later

It's probably past midnight. I don't know. My alarm clock broke. Every muscle in my body is telling me to sleep.

But I have to write. Someone told me once, that I had to write everything down. I think maybe it was Mom. I get it now, really. There's too much going on in life to just breeze past it all without pausing to leave a record. Maybe even cast a small reflection in the river of time.

Jeez, now I sound all sentimental. Huh. Wonder where I get that from.

Aunt Faith would have laughed to see me write cheesy lines like that. So would I, barely a week ago. I mean, what kind of loser writes sappy verses? Certainly not me.

Now I'm babbling again. I tend to do that when I'm nervous. Babble.

All right, all right. 

At about 11, my alarm went off. Hey, I was tired, okay? And I couldn't just stay up all night trying to outlast Dad. Aunt Dawn, sure. She sleeps like a rock. Anyway, I made sure the house was silent, which it was. I snuck out through my window and went to join Jesse and Ms. Robson at the school.

You would not believe the weapons that lady has. For a tweed-wearing tea-drinking stuffy Watcher, she sure has a lot of different sharp, pointy objects lying around behind the brass cabinet. 

But I didn't exactly know how to use an ax, or even a sword. Not yet, anyway. Ms. Robson and I grabbed crossbows and I put two stakes in my pocket. Just in case. Jesse didn't exactly know how to use any weapons, so he just carried a few stakes, a really big wooden cross, and a bottle of water. Holy water, whatever. Looked like Poland Spring to me.

That's another thing. Do crosses only work if the vampire is Christian? What about a Jewish vampire? And holy water? Puh-lease. Next, someone's gonna tell me vampires don't cast reflections or something.

I'm having a hard time separating fact from fiction.

Anyway, we set off for Docktown, where all the boats come in. A shady part of town. 

Apparently, a part of town frequented by dead citizens of Sunnydale.

A group, maybe half a dozen, of them spotted us a block away. What was cool was that I could feel a type of tingle on the back of my neck when they got close. Ms. Robson had said that it was the way for me to know when vamps were close. I think it's both that and for detecting certain family members.

Anyway, the whole glowy yellow eyes thing sort of gave them away. That, and the fact that they were rushing us, baring really unattractive fangs. 

I took down about three with my crossbow. Majorly cool. Jesse sort of panicked and dropped his cross. And he didn't really know how to use the stakes, either. So I had to jump in and kick a few of his pursuers in the face. 

Then Jesse tripped and smashed the bottle of water…holy water, whatever.

The vampire he fell on hissed and shrieked. And his skin was literally smoking. I quickly staked the poor, struggling thing. No one deserved to suffer.

That left just two. Ms. Robson was pretty handy with a crossbow; she got one by herself. That just left one little vamp.

While the others had been wearing normal street clothes (i.e. T-shirts and jeans), this one was wearing a black leather corset and tight leather pants with boots I would have loved to borrow. Bouncy brown curls spilled around her shoulders.

She was much more skilled than the rest of the ragtag bunch, so skilled that she had kept out of the fight until now.

When it was just her left, she actually smiled and began to clap.

"Good job, Angie," was all she whispered before she disappeared over the alley wall. I don't think anyone heard her voice but me.

And her voice…her voice was what gave her away. Not an ordinary vampire.

Aunt Faith.

She was one of _them_. No, not her. Aunt Faith was dead. This was just a demon with her face, right?

Ms. Robson commented that we did a good job, dusting five vamps in one night. I didn't really pay much attention. Not until she mentioned the extraordinary skill of the one that got away. She was sure that this group was composed of newly-risen vampires. 

Aunt Faith was always really strong. She was good at taking care of herself.

How in hell am I going to be able to destroy her? Not just defeating her physically. How will I ever be able to bring myself to kill what was once my aunt?

A noise. Something moving downstairs. My heart is thundering. A tingle on the back of my neck. Could it be—

No, of course not. Ms. Robson had said that vampires could only enter a dwelling if invited in by someone who lived there. 

Uh-oh. What if Aunt Dawn or Dad accidentally invited someone in? Or what if it was a burglar or something? I better go check.

__

I crept down the hall, pausing to peek into Aunt Dawn's room. Sound asleep. I moved down further, close to the stairs. Peeked in Dad's room.

Empty. Now I was worried.

I crept downstairs stealthily, taking care not to step on the creaky step.

Click.

The refrigerator door opened, closed. Okay, a thief wouldn't check the fridge for leftovers. And I was pretty sure vampires wouldn't either—

I froze at the kitchen entrance. Dad froze, a mug raised halfway to his lips.

"Hi," I said sheepishly. "Uh…"

"I was just getting a snack," Dad said quickly, licking his lips. "What are you doing down here at this hour, pet?"

"Uh, I heard a noise. Downstairs. Thought…I don't know." My forehead furrowed as I took in his muddy boots. "You've been out."

Dad quirked an eyebrow back at me. "And you don't look like you've gone to bed yet." Oh, crap! I hadn't remembered to change back into my PJ's.

"Um, well…" I suck at lying. "I was just coming downstairs, you know. Thought there was a burglar or something in the house. Didn't think my strawberry PJ's were very intimidating."

Dad gave me a "yeah, right" expression, but decided to let it go, for now at least. He had some explaining to do himself.

"Right. I was…taking a walk. And…and I went to see your mum."

Oh. We stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"So. Um, just in case I forget, try not to invite people in, okay?" I said tentatively, trying to slide that in there without making it sound too suspicious.

Dad gave me a funny look. "No, of course not. Pet, what makes you bring that up?"

"Oh, nothing," I said quickly. Too quickly. "Uh…you know, this is a weird town. Dangerous place. Wouldn't want to accidentally invite in any weirdo serial killers by accident. And besides, you know those door-to-door salesmen. Once you invite them in there's no way to get them out again." I laughed nervously.

Dad nodded slowly. "Right. Yeah, good idea. You too, Angie. Don't let in any strangers."

I nodded too. Then stood there like an idiot.

"Well, 'night, Dad."

"Goodnight, sweetie." Dad gave me a peck on the forehead and sent me upstairs.

Weird. Dad's breath smelled funny, sort of coppery. Usually it doesn't smell like anything at all.

Anyway, a false alarm, I guess. But my dad really shouldn't be going out at night in the first place. Night isn't exactly a safe time in Sunnydale.

I'll talk to him about it in the morning.


	13. September 13, 2019

A/N: Yeah, Angie's definitely pretty slow. But part of the fun is not knowing. And BTW, I plan to make this a very, very long story.

September 13, 2019

Friday. Good day. I got maybe twenty minutes of sleep last night.

This past week has been literally hell. Hell-week. Now, to think I have the rest of my short life to look forward to weeks just like this one. 

I haven't seen Aunt Faith…no, not Aunt Faith, just "Faith" will do…these past couple of days. There wasn't much deviation from the norm, just a quick patrol in one of Sunnydale's various cemeteries and lots of training. 

I now know how to use a whole bunch of shiny, exotic weapons now. Won't that make Daddy proud?

Urgh. Jesse's bad humor is rubbing off on me. I've been around him _way_ too much lately. It's just the first week of school and already, I've got a detention with Mr. Walsh, the biology teacher, for dozing off in class. Two more and Dad's gonna get an unpleasant call. And I'm gonna get skinned alive and ground into dust.

This is so stupid. Ms. Robson has me and Jesse preparing extra-hard, researching, etc., just because she thinks some stupid old prophecy says the world's gonna end. Right. If you actually read all of them, there's been practically one every month. And the world's still pretty intact.

You want pathetic? I'm whittling stakes right now as I write. But here's something really creepy: I cleaned out the attic today, found lots of old things. Some from when I was little. And I found a little-girl diary with a picture of cats on the cover. 

__

April 30, 2012—Afternoon

Mommy and Daddy took my diary away. Then Aunt Dawnie found her real prezzie in the downstairs closet. I don't understand what was wrong with the other diary, or who gave it to me. But Mommy says this way I won't get any more weird dreams.

That's not true. 

I had a really scary one last night. I don't like that dream at all. But I didn't tell anyone about it because I didn't want Mommy and Daddy to get worried again.

Which reminds me of something else. This morning, Grandpa Hank left for LA. After seeing him off, Mommy called Aunt Willow and then they got into the living room, all alone, without anybody else. They're still there. I'm supposed to be napping, but I'm not sleepy.

Actually, I am sleepy. I just don't want to have any scary and confusing dreams. I'm in Mommy and Daddy's room right now, writing on the big bed. Daddy's taking a nap right next to me.

He's funny when he's asleep. I wonder if all Daddies don't breathe when they're asleep. I've seen Uncle Angel fall asleep once, and he wasn't breathing either. But then again, I haven't caught Uncle Xander asleep long enough for me to tell.

But looking at Daddy reminds me of my dream again, where Mommy was as still as he is now. And Mommy certainly breathes when she's asleep. 

Daddy isn't moving at all. I think I'll poke his nose.

***

Then after Aunt Anya showed up, Daddy told me to go get Mommy.

Confused and puzzled, I went downstairs. Opening the door, I saw Mommy and Aunt Willow sitting on the ground, facing each other with eyes closed. 

I didn't really want to disturb them, but Daddy said I needed to get Mommy.

***

Down there, Uncle Rupert and Uncle Xander showed up. And then the grown-ups talked. Aunt Anya said I knew something.

What? I don't know anything.

Daddy made me go upstairs while the grown-ups talked.

That was a weird first entry. Some parts of it were probably the product of my 8-year-old imagination. Dreams and stuff? That's just not right. I can almost remember having Slayer-like dreams back then. Almost. And the whole not-breathing thing? Definitely an exaggeration. Which meant I probably couldn't take anything else my 8-year-old self wrote at face value either.

And what was that about another diary?

The rest of the diary is even stranger.

__

April 30, 2012 —Later

I can still hear them talking about me downstairs. I didn't understand most of it, just that the diary was evil and that Aunt Anya thinks it "triggered" my dreams.

So the weird dreams about Mommy were because of the diary? 

And then Aunt Anya reminded them that I should still be getting those weird dreams even after the diary was taken away.

So I was getting Slayer dreams as a kid because of some evil diary?

__

They're talking about Mommy now. 

***

Mommy? Something was wrong with Mommy?

May 1, 2012 

Mommy's gone.

Aunt Willow says it might make me feel better if I wrote everything down, but I don't feel any better.

I think I'll write more later.

So this was when Mom died, I guess. No details.

__

May 5, 2012 

They said Mommy died in a car accident.

Right after everyone left Aunt Cordy and Uncle Angel came by and dropped Jesse off, then left in a rush.

No one came home Saturday night. Uncle Xander told me stories of Mommy when she was in school, and they were mostly funny. 

If I actually knew what he was talking about, or if anyone ever decided to explain. From what I could understand, Uncle Xander had a bad history of girlfriends.

When I got worried and asked about Mommy and Daddy and everybody, Uncle Xander said not to worry, that everyone has gotten through stuff like this before, and that everyone has survived worse. Then when I asked him where everyone went and why Mommy's eyes were yellow, Uncle Xander started babbling. He said something about how everyone was going to go find an old friend they haven't seen for a while, and that they might be a while.

Then he tucked me in.

And I got a really scary dream.

The diary didn't describe this dream.

__

That's when Uncle Xander woke me up. There was an earthquake and we had to go down to the basement. He told me and Jesse that everything was all right, but he sounded really worried and kept glancing out the window.

Jesse and I climbed onto Daddy's bed in the basement, where he usually went during the day. Funny, I never noticed the chains on the wall right next to it before.

I didn't tell either of them my dream.

We stayed there until 3 AM. Then the earthquake suddenly stopped and Uncle Xander took us back upstairs to sleep.

When I next woke up, Aunt Dawnie was sitting nearby, her arm bandaged and in a sling. She had a cut on her face and her skin was dirty and dusty. And her eyes were red and still teary.

I asked her what was wrong and where were Mommy and Daddy?

Aunt Dawnie started crying again.

That's when Aunt Willow came in. She told me that there was an accident. Mommy got in a car accident.

And the hospital tried to save her but they couldn't do anything about it.

I said she was lying. She had to be! Mommy would never leave me and Daddy and Aunt Dawnie. She wouldn't.

I asked Aunt Dawnie if Aunt Willow was lying, but Aunt Dawnie only cried harder.

That's when I knew it.

May 8, 2012 

Tonight was Mommy's memorial service. Uncle Rupert and Aunt Willow both went up to the podium and said nice things about Mommy. There were many people there, but I didn't know many of them. There was Uncle Xander, Aunt Willow, and Jesse, Aunt Anya, Uncle Rupert, Uncle Angel and Aunt Cordy, Uncle Clem, Aunt Dawnie, and Daddy, of the people I knew. Then there were lots of other people that I didn't know, including people from the high school.

I tried to talk to Daddy, but he still wouldn't talk to me. He doesn't talk to anybody.

I think something's wrong with Daddy. He didn't even make a joke when Uncle Angel's hair gel leaked all over Aunt Cordy's coat.

I want Mommy back.

Aunt Dawnie said that this will take time, that everyone's really upset about Mommy. About the "car accident." She said something about how it was hard enough to lose Mommy the first time, and then she caught herself and went to get some punch.

I don't understand what's going on. I don't even know why Mommy's gone, or why no one will tell me what happened.

I don't understand why Daddy won't talk to me.

I'm not gonna write anymore. Writing everything down doesn't make losing Mommy any easier, no matter what Aunt Willow said. 

I still remember the funeral. Even then, I was skeptical. Mom couldn't have died in a car accident, right? I mean, sure, she wasn't exactly the best driver in the world, but still…

And what did I mean when I wrote that Aunt Dawn said it was hard enough losing Mom the _first time_? How can there be a first time?

I'll attribute it to my overly active 8-year-old imagination.

But some things I can remember. Not very happy things. 

The first few weeks were hell. Everyone was so sad; no one would even talk about what happened to Mom. I basically lived with Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander. That's when me and Jesse really became good friends.

The first few months after Mom died, I felt like I lost not only her, but Dad, too. Never saw him until maybe August of the same year. 

During this, the Harrises were really nice, of course, and Aunt Dawn was always there for me, but Aunt Faith and I really bonded. She told me stories of when Mom was younger, but never of her own past. She said there was nothing to tell. She'd protected me when everyone else was too busy grieving. Like a mother figure, more than an aunt, really.

And now she's gone, too.


	14. September 14, 2019

A/N: Very busy right now; sorry for the slow updates! R&R!

September 14, 2019

Saturday. _Not_ a good day. Today I was home. So was Aunt Dawn. So was Dad.

First there were lectures about responsibility. About paying attention in class, grades and stuff. How am I supposed to keep track of all those tests and homework assignments? And honestly, Aunt Dawn wasn't exactly qualified to lecture me about school. God knows she's missed more days than she actually went to when she was my age.

But what really sucks is living with a Shakespearean lit professor. Especially since that's our unit right now in LA. Dad took one look at the sorry excuse for an essay I got back and gave a two-hour long lecture, right after saying a string of funny British words I wasn't quite sure I understood. I don't really think I _want_ to know what he was saying.

Anyway, I'm even more grounded. But at least starting next week, it'll be much easier to sneak out to patrol. Dad's gonna be teaching again at UC Sunnydale.  


That's another thing. He'll be out late at night, in his old car that'll probably just fall apart one day. I mean, really, it was made in _1958_. That's like, _eons_ ago. Hey, I just used a vocab word. Sweet.

Anyway, I think I'm going to douse it with holy water sometime in the daytime, when he's not around. Dad can't stand anyone touching that old piece of junk. Maybe I could convince him to hang garlic on the rearview mirror? Nah, I think he's allergic.

Oh well. I'll do that later. Now, I have to do my essay re-write. An analysis of "Macbeth" and its portrayal and influence on the modern perception of witchcraft.


	15. September 15, 2019

September 15, 2019

Patrolling has become sort or routine by now. There's nothing really going on, aside from maybe three or four vamps a night. 

And still no sign of Faith.

Maybe she's dust, maybe she left town. But I think she's still around, just waiting for the right time to strike. I dunno.

Chocolate pancakes with chocolate syrup this morning, with a side of hot chocolate and little marshmallows. Chocolate on top of chocolate. Yummy.

I searched through the attic again this morning. Found lots of old boxes of baby clothes and stuff like that. 

And a chest. A large, wooden chest with a large iron lock on it. I don't think I realized my Slayer strength until I accidentally broke the lock. The heavy lid lifted quite easily.

There are two layers in the trunk. Inside was a bunch of Mom's old stuff. On the top I found an old, faded umbrella. The shaft had been super-glued carefully, but I could still tell it had been broken. The words "Class Protector" were displayed on the side. Beside it sat a pink plush pig. Staring up at me with shiny button eyes. 

There was a yearbook there, too. The Class of 1999, Sunnydale High School. Huh. The last class to graduate from the first Sunnydale High. "The Future Is Ours."

Underneath that, neatly folded, was a red and yellow outfit. A long-sleeved, V-necked tee and a short skirt. A Cheerleading outfit. And strangely enough, tucked between the folds of the shirt was a large silver ring, with a skull in front. Didn't look like anything Mom would ever have worn..

Under the outfit there was a small, pretty box, containing a plain silver cross and tucked under it, yet another ring. But this one was something that might actually have fit Mom. It had a heart in the middle, with what looked like a crown above it and wings on the sides. 

The next layer was extremely hard to get to. The tray on top was stuck on very, very tightly, and I had to use all my Slayer strength to get it to come off.

What I found underneath was shocking, to say the least. 

There was a long, shiny sword with a polished silver blade. The trunk had been collecting dust, yet the blade was as sharp as any weapon I had ever handled. Beside that weapon was a…well, a very big hammer, almost like a mallet. I could barely lift it. And there were some weird inscriptions on the handle. Next to that lay one final weapon.

A very sharp, slightly knotted stick. 

A hand-crafted stake. Why would my mother, Buffy Summers, have a stake in her old trunk?

Or shiny sharp weapons, for that matter? 

Maybe she was an antique collector. Maybe she just liked weapons. Or maybe she knew Sunnydale wasn't exactly a normal town and she was just trying to protect herself.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Uh-oh. The phone is ringing. And Aunt Dawn went shopping. 

Better pick up before Dad wakes up crabby.

__

"Hello?"

"Angela? This is Ms. Robson. We have a slight…situation. Do you think you could come down for a…for a quick rehearsal?"

Dread welled up in my heart. "Um, sure. Just a minute, I gotta tell Dad."

"Take your time, but do hurry. We cannot start the rehearsal without you."

I got the message. Something was up. And it had to be big, or else Ms. Robson wouldn't risk calling my house on a Sunday.

I walked down the basement steps. Dark and gloomy. And always slightly unnerving. I don't like basements.

"Dad?"

I heard a half-hearted growl in the dark. "What?"

"Um, Ms. Robson called. I have to go down to the school for a short rehearsal. Sort of last minute."

Dad growled again. "On a bloody Sunday?"

"Um, well…we really need to get a lot of practice done. Yeah. It's a very special rehearsal. And short. Did I mention short?"

Dad gave me a look. A yeah-right-there's-no-way-I-believe-you-but-I'll-let-you-go-anyway-because-I'm-trying-to-get-some-sleep-look. "Fine. As long as it's for school. Be back by 3:30, okay, pet?"

I sighed. That gave me what, an hour? "Okay. See ya!"

Okay, I don't think he bought it. I need to be more careful, either that or start thinking of better excuses.

__

"So what's going on?" I demanded.

Ms. Robson looked up from her latest newspaper. "Hmm? Oh good, you're here."

Jesse rolled his eyes, looking up from his book.

"Well, what's the situation? I have to get home by 3:30, so let's hurry up."

My Watcher gave me a glare. "An entire trainload of passengers were killed last night. Many died from neck wounds."

She handed me the paper. I skimmed it quickly, then handed it back to her.

"So, vamps? A new nest moving in town?"

Ms. Robson shook her head. "Not exactly." She turned around, searching for something in her bag.

"Take a look at this," she said, sounding proud. She held up a large plastic Ziploc bag. Inside of which was a medium-sized porcelain doll. Very old, dressed in a tattered and faded purple dress. Face burnt beyond recognition. And a blindfold around its eyes.

I shivered just looking at it. "So what is it?"

"A piece of evidence I found on board the train. Not many vampires carry around dolls, you know. And it is quite easily inferred from the age of this doll that it is over a hundred years old."

I frowned. "A kiddie vamp?"

Ms. Robson practically rolled her eyes. "No, Angela. This is a trademark possession of the vampiress Drusilla."

"Drood-zilla?" Huh. Funny name.

My Watcher sighed in exasperation. "Dru-silla," she enunciated.

"Oh. Well, what about her? I'll just go find her and put a stake through her, right?"

Ms. Robson frowned and shook her head. "Although Drusilla is often described mentally unstable, she is still a very powerful creature. And the last time she was spotted was in 1997, in Sunnydale, with her childe and paramour, William the Bloody. If she is here, so is he, most likely."

I shrugged. "So what's the big? I'll stake them both and get home before Dad grounds me for the rest of my natural life." I pointed to my watch. "Time's ticking."

I swear Ms. Robson almost growled. "Silly girl! William the Bloody is the Slayer of Slayers! He has taken down two Slayers in his time. And Drusilla herself has killed one the last time she was in Sunnydale."

I frowned. "Wait a minute. Vamps kill Slayers, too? I thought it was a one-way thing." I suddenly wasn't liking this job so much.

Jesse spoke up for the first time since I entered. "No, doofus. Why do you think all those vamps that know what the Slayer is come at you? Do you think they want_ to meet a dusty end?_

I rolled my eyes at him. "Whatever. Y'know, they should've put that little detail in the job description."

Ms. Robson cleared her throat. "If you two are finished…"

"Getting back to the research," Jesse said, turning to his large volume.

"So what do I do?"

My Watcher glanced at a pile of old, dusty books I hadn't noticed. "Well…"

"You know what," I said quickly. "It's past 3 already. I'll go home, whittle a few more stakes. You guys can do the research, call me if you find anything."

I practically dashed out of there.

What a great way to end my weekend. Evidence of new vamp couple in town.

Very interesting names. Sounded like something from a Gothic vampire novel.

And really, one of them was a loony who plays with dolls. How messed up is that? I stopped playing with them since…well, my fifth birthday. My entire doll collection consists of an old porcelain one with really soft, pretty brown hair and a really sweet painted-on face. Her outfits consist of Aunt Dawn's various experimentations. Right now she's sitting on my desk in a dress that looks like the one Dorothy wore from _The Wizard of Oz_.

She's not in the closet or attic with my other toys because…well, I've always had a soft spot for Miss Edith. The first toy I've ever gotten, on my first birthday. When I was little I thought all my toys were alive, so I'd sometimes talk to Miss Edith. But only in private. Once Dad caught me talking to her about a pretend tea party I was going to have with my stuffed animals. I couldn't find her again for months afterwards.

I'm babbling on again. Now I really have to go do homework or risk being grounded for eternity.


	16. September 16, 2019

September 16, 2019

I am sick and tired of these crazy prophetic Slayer dreams. My Watcher says they aren't literal, but instead ways my subconscious alerts me of danger in its own twisted way, with pieces and images from my thoughts.

Still, they're getting really annoying. Especially the deeply disturbing one last night.

__

"Miss Edith tells me a great many things," a voice whispered in the dark. "A great many naughty, naughty things. Sh, Miss Edith. Bite your tongue."

From the shadows stepped a tall, thin woman. She had long, curly dark brown hair and large, bright eyes. Too-bright eyes. Pale gray eyes that glistened with insanity and otherworldly knowledge. 

Clutched tightly in her hands was my doll. Not dressed like Dorothy, no. Wearing a frilly pink dress and a bonnet. 

The woman frowned at me. "Tsk, tsk. I lost Miss Edith. And my William won't tell me where she is." Her mouth dropped open slightly into a wide grin, the expression on her face never changing. "You're dead, Slayer. My sweet William is free."

Uh, right…

I started backing away, fast.

"Hold on a minute. What's this, Dru? Brought a little lass for supper?" And Irish brogue. 

I spun around. And burst out laughing.

There stood Uncle Angel, with long hair tied back with a ribbon_! Glowering at me, not very threatening in muttonchops and a ponytail. _

Hilarious.

That was when my alarm went off. I woke up laughing.

It's Monday _again_. The second week of school and I'm already sick to death of it.

On the bright side, no patrolling until Ms. Robson is satisfied that we've done sufficient research on the new threat. So that brings me to the dark side, I guess. I've been researching for almost three whole hours today. Stupid vampires, stupid Scourge of Europe.

Apparently, it all started with this stupid vampire about two thousand years ago, with a stupid name that reminds me of some stupid Roman emperor.

Oh, right. Aurelius. That was his name. Well anyway, he was a really powerful vampire with really powerful powers, yadda, yadda, yadda. Supposedly really good at hypnotizing people. 

Whatever.

Anyway, then about six hundred years ago, there's this other stupid vampire. His name is even lamer. I mean, honestly, who names their kid "The Master?" The master of what? The master of masturbation, probably. 

Again, Jesse's influence. Back to his stupid name. 

I know, I know, that's probably not his original name. Anyway, he came to Sunnydale about seventy years ago and tried to open the Hellmouth. Big earthquake, got stuck. Got out twenty years ago, got dusted by the then-Slayer. Huh. Doesn't even mention her name. Figured.

Anyway, about four hundred years before that, he sired this vamp called Darla and she hooked up with a guy called Angelus. 

Please, _Angelus_? That sounds like the name of a hooker. And Angelus is a _guy_. Poor guy; he must've been beaten up every day at school, with a name like that. 

Anyway, back to the topic. Darla and Angelus were really big bad vamps, killing lots of people and creating lots of mayhem. Then, in 1860, Angelus decides to make himself a new companion. He turns some chick named Drusilla. The same Drusilla that's supposedly in Sunnydale.

The crazy chick with the dolls.

Anyway, they're a happy family, wandering around Europe, when this Drusilla decides she wants a playmate, too. So she goes and sires this guy, William the Bloody.

What a long name. Why can't he just have a one-word name like the rest of them? It sure would save ink and maybe even let me read faster.

Anyway, he's the last member of their happy little family. The Scourge of Europe. So the Scourge go frolicking around in…well, Europe. Then Sometime in the end of the century before last, Angelus gets cursed with a soul and virtually disappears from the vamp radar map. He was last reportedly seen in Sunnydale, 1997, and reported by the then-Watcher of the then-Slayer. Both of who remain apparently nameless.

Anyway, his pal Darla was last spotted in 1996, in…big surprise there, Sunnydale. I guess the Hellmouth really does attract lots of folks of the demonic variety.

Back to the history. This "William the Bloody" evidently goes to China and kills a Slayer (a nameless one, big surprise), then goes to New York and kills another one (and again, the identity of mystery-Slayer isn't revealed). Big whoop.

Both times, Drusilla was seen with him, though not either Darla or Angelus. This sweet couple was last spotted together in 1998, also in Sunnydale. The year before Drusilla killed the then-Slayer. Well, actually, _another_ Slayer, not the one in Sunnydale. Which makes absolutely no sense, since she was in Sunnydale at the time…Anyway.

There was also a reported sighting of WtB in 2000, by some of the Council's own operatives. In Sunnydale. With no mention of Drusilla. Hmm…

So the Scourge was basically assumed dusty. And now, apparently not. 

They weren't really nice people, either. Angelus used to nail puppies to doors and William the Bloody used to drive railroad spikes through people's heads. Very messy.

The girl-vamps didn't really seem so bad, until Jesse explained the incestuous relationships in their little "family". Vamps basically jumped anything that moved.

Eww. So very gross.


	17. September 17, 2019 Part 1

September 17, 2019—Morning

Tuesday. I hate Tuesdays.

First things first. I had another nightmare this morning, something about Aunt Faith. Apparently, I was screaming, "Aunt Faith," out loud, thus waking up the whole house. And then Aunt Dawn asked me what I had dreamed about. What could I say?

I told them that I had a nightmare about Aunt Faith, which was sorta true. What I saw was Aunt Faith just talking to Mom in some sort of park. Really bright place. I couldn't really make out what they were talking about, just that neither of them really looked all that happy.

And then I saw a very different Aunt Faith in a different place, cackling and standing over a pit filled with the bodies of everyone I knew. I think that's when I screamed.

Right. Anyway, that had been at about 5 o'clock. Way too early to wake up. But once awake, there was no way I could go back to sleep.

A little shaken up over the dream, I spent a few minutes hanging assorted crucifixes (in a discreet manner, of course) in a few out-of-the-way places. Behind curtains, in closets, stuff like that. Oh, and on the back door. Just in case, not that I think anybody's stupid enough to invite strangers inside, this being Sunnydale and all. But still, with both Aunt Faith and supposedly a new vamp couple in town, precautions were necessary.

Then I doused Dad's car with a small bottle of H2O, freshly blessed by the friendly neighborhood priest. 

There. Much better, much safer. And I'm pretty sure the water washed away some of the grime.

Hmm. The Harris's never go out at night, with the exception of Jesse. So they're pretty much safe. And Aunt Dawn never goes out at night, either. So that just leaves Dad I have to convince to wear a crucifix. At least until I run the new threats outta town. Now I gotta think of a good reason for coercing him to wear religious symbols. 

I really hope nobody notices any of the crosses I left hanging around. I don't think my family's really that religious, 'cause we never go to church on Sundays, or at all, now that I think about it.

Later this morning, just a few minutes ago, I gave both Aunt Dawn and Dad a little talk on the recent murders, and warned them both not to talk to strangers, or even familiar people. 

Aunt Dawn asked if this had anything to do with my dream. She said that when I was little I used to have bad dreams, too.

Uh-oh. Aunt Dawn had to go early about some diagnosis or case, or something like that. That means Dad's driving me to school. I just hope his car stays in one piece long enough to get there.

And that he doesn't "accidentally" run over any road signs. 

Gotta go now.


	18. September 17, 2019 Part 2

September 17, 2019—Later

Bad. Very bad. Did I mention I don't like Tuesdays?

Anyway, the trip to school didn't exactly go as planned.

First, while I was getting my stuff, I heard several loud British invectives shouted from the direction of the garage. Busted. Somehow, I had probably left evidence of tampering with Dad's baby. Maybe the water dried funny or made the paint chip?

Then Dad stormed back into the kitchen, murder on his face. And he asked very calmly what the bloody f***ing hell I did to his car. Uh-oh.

I couldn't really think of any excuses, so I blurted out something bordering on truth. Not the part about me being the Slayer, or anything like that. Just that bad things happened in Sunnydale after dark and someone had told me blessed objects would help. Thus I "accidentally" let a little l'eau sainte spill on the DeSoto, 'cause I was worried that he always went out at night.

I think Dad was actually about to ease up on me, when my big mouth opened and I asked him if he'd wear a crucifix, just in case.

Bad, very bad idea. The response was another string of British expletives. I guess Dad isn't big into religion.

I ended up having to call Uncle Xander to take me to school. In the minivan with Jesse, Uncle Xander asked why I had to call him to get driven. When I told him the same excuse I had told Dad, he burst out laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

Jesse and I just stared at each other. Adults are _so_ weird.

At school, things were worse. Ms. Robson kept us in band for the entire morning, so I missed history, trig, and English. Hope I don't get any phone calls home. 

Anyway, there are some new crises. Drusilla apparently has been killing lots of people in the past few days. Lots and lots of dead and missing bodies. Usually vampires don't like to keep around leftovers, so the missing people are probably all undead by now. Which is not good, as there are over a dozen of them. All healthy college-age guys.

Furthermore, Ms. Robson's research has shown that the disappearances and murders form a pattern. They are all clustered in a two-block radius somewhere downtown, in an old industrial district.

And there have been as of yet no direct sightings of this Drusilla, and no evidence at all of her boyfriend. So they might not be in town at all.

Well, with all that, I had to spend hours training with various shiny and blunt weapons, which was pretty cool. Until Jesse accidentally punctured the timpani with a sharp blade.

I played the drums.

After chasing him around the room with sharp objects and threatening to eviscerate him in a complex maneuver Aunt Anya had once told me about, it was lunchtime. 

Then it started to rain. Very bad. Vamps could come out. And then I remembered I left my French book at home, on my desk. I had French two periods after lunch. And Mlle Madison would skin me alive if I forgot to bring it yet again.

So of course I decided to head home. 

Just in time.


	19. September 17, 2019 Part 3

A/N: Sorry this took so long to post. This has been really hard to write, for me at least. I'm not really into emotional scenes or the action/adventure category.

From now on, I'm going to be skipping larger periods of time between each diary entry, so most of the action will happen on, that's right, Tuesday. Watch for Halloween revelations!

September 17, 2019—Almost Midnight

Okay, just finished dinner, believe it or not. I was so hungry that even Aunt Dawn's peanut-butter-and-banana quesadillas tasted halfway edible. Again, I reiterate, I _hate_ Tuesdays.

Back to earlier today.

__

By the time I'd walked all the way back home, I was completely soaked. Of course I didn't have an umbrella. I mean, honestly, who in Sunnydale owns an umbrella?

When I got home, I knew something was off. The house was just too_ quiet. Oh, and there were smashed windows and the door was nowhere to be seen. I immediately thought of Aunt Dawn and Dad, then realized that Aunt Dawn wasn't coming home until around 7 today. Which just left Dad MIA. Which wasn't a good thing. How was a middle-aged human supposed to deal with a break-in like this?_

It was completely empty. And there were holes in the walls, overturned furniture, everything. My room wasn't completely ransacked, although my French book was in tatters and stuff seemed to be missing.

And I noticed the large and very dead body of a very large demony thingie with horns and did I mention it was very large and demony?! The silver spoon forced into its chest looked almost ridiculous.

I ran back outside. And noticed yet another one of those demons, this one with an ax imbedded in its cranium and blue-green goo flowing from the wound.

Okay, I so_ did not want to meet whatever had killed that thing. _

Now, why the hell would those demons come and trash my_ house? I don't remember pissing any of their kind off. But clearly they had to know I was the Slayer. Why else would Dad be missing? _

Now what was I supposed to do? Wait for them to send a ransom note? 'Cause the rain had washed away all evidence of a trail.

Back to school. Needed to describe to Ms. Robson what type of demon I had found and ask where the rest of them were. And kill them in the most painful way possible. If anything had hurt Dad…

I ran faster than I had ever before back to school. I tore through the halls, dodging students and teachers alike, making people stare at me like I was crazy. I really didn't care.

I burst into the band room, where Jesse and Ms. Robson both looked up quickly from dusty books.

"Angela, what is the matter—"

"Demons. Big ones with horns that trashed my house. Found two of them dead. And I'm pretty sure they have my father." I stared hard at my Watcher. "Now, I need you to find out just what types of baddies those were and where the hell I can find them." I stalked over one of the closets and yanked the latch, opening up the secret cache of weapons. Now, just which of the nice, shiny weapons should I take?

"Angela, you must calm down and describe the demons in detail."

I suddenly had a strange urge to drive something long and sharp in her skull. But there was no time to entertain weird ideas or rant about exactly how calm I was feeling at the moment.

"They were, um, big. And they had two little horns on their heads that curved like this. Oh, and one of them was killed with a spoon and the other with an ax."

Jesse stared at me like I was crazy. "A spoon_? Are you sure?"_

"Yeah, positive. It was one of silver ones Aunt Dawn taught us to balance on our noses, remember?"

"Silver?" Ms. Robson interrupted sharply, her face going pale. "Are you sure it was silver?"

I nodded, dreading her expression.

She took a deep breath. "Fyarl demon, I'm pretty sure of it. Oh, this is very bad news."

I frowned. "What do you mean? What are Fyarl demons?"

"They are a species of very strong, relatively simple demons, thriving on violence. Mostly hired by other demons for tasks that require manual labor. They aren't exactly known to be very gentle."

"Who the hell do they work for?" I asked, trying not to let the dread swallow me whole. If the grudges demons built up against me from slaying got involved with my family, I was quitting this job for good. 

Ms. Robson shook her head. "There is no way to know for certain. Although considering the recent threats in town..."

"Where?" I demanded, grabbing a long silver sword and thrusting two stakes in my pockets.

"Angie, don't go alone—"

I rounded on him. "Jesse, not the time. Now where the hell is she staying?"

Ms. Robson took another deep breath. "Industrial district, downtown."

I took off before she could finish.

Aunt Dawn just got back from the store. Got some more antiseptic and bandages. 

__

The old industrial district was creepy, extremely creepy. And, fortunately, mostly abandoned.

Except for one squat gray building. There was a tattered, once-neon sign above it which read, "The Factory." Very original name.

I could sense more vamps in there than I wanted to meet in a week.

Time to announce my entrance. I back a few steps away from the metal door.

I took a deep breath, then sprinted toward the heavy sheet of metal, launching into the door feet-first.

BAM! 

A large dent appeared in the metal. The door was halfway crumpled.

I drew back and kicked it one more time. With a sickening screech of metal, the door twisted and fell away.

The vampires guarding it were very surprised.

"Slayer!" one of them yelled in terrified shock. "Sh-she said you were—"

Poof. I withdrew my stake, spun around, and dusted another one of them.

The 3 others left scattered. Giving me a trail to follow. Perfect.

I drew my sword and walked very cautiously down the hall, keeping on the lookout. Always on the lookout.

The hallway was surprisingly empty.

"Grrar!"

Okay, not anymore.

I swung the sword at the big demon that lumbered out at me. And missed. Apparently these Fyarl thingies were more agile than they looked.

He swung a fist at me and missed when I cut off his arm. With a yell that could have brought down the roof, I saw the demon breathe deeply and…get ready to sneeze?

Forget that. There were vampires flooding the hall behind me!

"Ahhhhhh-CHOO!"

I ducked instinctively, watching in horror as the translucent green mucus shot from his nostrils and into the wave of attackers. The first of the oncoming bloodsuckers, hit full force, froze in place. In the moment of confusion that followed, I swung my sword.

The Fyarl demon's head flew through the air, hitting one of the frozen vamps. He fell over, limbs still in the same position as before.

Wow, paralyzing mucus. Neat. And also extremely eww…

I jumped into the fray, throwing punches and kicks as well as stakes. When I was done, the hallway was filled with little piles of dust and a mutilated demon corpse, as well as five frozen vamps covered in a clear green goo. My stake couldn't penetrate the mucus. Oh well.

I took off again, but didn't have to go far. There was another large, steel, bolted door along the way where I sensed vampires. Not many. Just hoped there were no more Fyarl demons.

I kicked the door down to witness a truly chilling sight. 

The entire room was filled with a coppery stench.

In the center of the large, dimly lit room sat a small table. It was set with a yellowed lace tablecloth, which was partly covered with a dark red stain. On it was a set of delicate china teacups with a pretty floral pattern. In each of the teacups was a dark red liquid.

Sitting around the table were various old, porcelain dolls, in various states of decay. Some had no heads, others no eyes. Their lace gowns were faded and rotting, their faces scorched and hair burnt away. Except for one. Miss Edith's bright face still looked obliviously cheerful, although her cheeks were smeared with the red liquid.

Directly behind the table, tied up to a pole in the middle of the room, was my father. He was stripped halfway and a dark-haired woman was cutting into his flesh with her nails, filling a matching china teapot with his blood. Dad's eyes were squeezed shut and he had bitten his lip so hard that his mouth was also bleeding.

There were no others in the room.

"Oh my God…" My stomach lurched at the sight. I turned and barfed on the cement floor, my sword clattering to the ground.

Dad looked up at the noise. The was an unreadable expression on his face. "Run," he whispered.

The dark-haired woman didn't acknowledge my presence, just continued to fill her teapot.

I drew out a stake and took a step. "Let him go."

The vampiress still didn't respond, instead beginning to hum. 

"Let him go!"

She finished filling the teapot and turned back slowly to put it on the table. And then she looked up, ever so slowly, and began to sing, putting words to the melody. 

Her eyes! Such large, listless gray eyes. I had seen her before. In a dream.

"Run and catch, the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch." Her voice was haunting, sending shivers up my spine.

"Don't look at her," Dad choked out. "Run!"

No way. This was my battle.

"I'm guessing you're Drusilla?" I asked, readying my stake.

The vampire suddenly stopped singing and closed her eyes. When they opened again, she stared at me in confusion and…sadness?

"No, no, no! You're the Slayer! Bad, bad Slayer. You should be dead."

"Dru! Leave her alone! She's not—"

I nodded slowly. "That's right. I'm the Slayer. You're here for the Slayer, aren't you? Well, come and get me. Leave him out of this."

"What? Angie, what are you bloody saying?!"

The insane vampiress stared back and forth from me to Dad. Her eyes grew wider and wider.

"No, no, no, no, NO! Secrets, bad, bad secrets. The Slayer. The Slayer always ruins everything!" She turned to Dad and punched him hard in the face, snapping his head back. "Why couldn't you kill her? I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away? She's dead, my sweet William. And you're still all covered with her. I look at you... and all I see is the Slayer." She hissed like a cat and dug her nails into his cheeks, drawing long lines of blood.

I gagged and almost threw up again. What was she doing_ to my dad? And what in hell was she saying?!_

"Dru, don't you dare touch Angela. Leave. Leave before I have to kill you." There was a cold fire in Dad's icy gaze. Despite being tied up and bleeding, he looked dangerous and frightening for a moment.

Drusilla drew back. "Lost, lost William. Lost, and unwilling to be found. Poor lost little boy."

She smiled a ghost of a smile and kissed Dad on the same cheek she had torn open. He moaned when she lapped up the spilt blood. My stomach turned again and I clutched the stake even more tightly.

The vampire glided away and I was about to tackle her when Dad said a simple, "Don't."

Despite myself, I halted. Watched her make her way slowly to the door.

And then, in a truly strange moment, the vampire glanced back and gave a small smile, a surprisingly lucid look on her visage. 

"She has your eyes."

And then she was gone.

I got Dad out of there okay. A whole lot of blood everywhere, though. But there was no way he'd let me take him to the hospital. Just straight home, despite logic.

I had a lot of questions. Like, what was Drusilla talking about? And how did they know each other?

I bet he had a lot to ask as well. Like what the hell a Slayer was.

But no one said anything on the long and wet way home.

When we finally got back to the ransacked house, I called Aunt Dawn and she came home immediately. Fussed over Dad, even made him growl. I helped her bandage him up and then she said she had to go on a special errand, to get something important. She told me Dad was fine and to go get some sleep.

I really didn't want to leave him alone, but he swore he was fine and practically ordered me to leave the basement. But how could anyone be okay after losing all that blood?

When I woke up again, it was pretty dark. Aunt Dawn was just finishing washing dishes in the sink. Surprisingly, she didn't ask any questions about what had happened. Just made me some peanut-butter-and-banana quesadillas and then sent me to bed. 

Again, I really, _really_ hate Tuesdays. Not only do I get into lots of big, bad trouble on Tuesdays, but I also get more and more confused. Just what relationship could my human father have with an insane vampire? 

I'll ask about everything tomorrow. 

I just hope they don't try to pass her off as another long-lost relative.


	20. September 18, 2019 Part 1

A/N: Kazi, I know you're reading this right now. So, extra-angsty for ya! Another chapter will be posted before the end of the day, promise!

September 18, 2019—Early Morning

__

Drusilla, again. She smiled at me, back in the Factory. But the building was empty, everybody gone except for the two of us. And Miss Edith, of course.

"What are you doing here, sweet girl?" she asked.

I swallowed hard. "I want to know. The truth. No one's ever told me the truth."

She laughed then. Laughed and laughed and laughed. "Silly child. What knowledge do you seek?"

"My father—"

The Factory faded out of existence. There was an alley instead, a dark place, filled with bales of hay. Strange, that. Was it even an alley? Maybe a barn?

Sitting on one of the bales was a young man with wire-rimmed glasses. He was tearing a piece of paper and weeping liberally.

Shock coursed through me. The nerdy poet from the dinner party! I remembered him, from a previous dream. Something I had forgotten. The details of that particular one were still hazy. I couldn't recall anything more from it, other than…

He continued tearing the bad poetry into smaller and smaller pieces, then looks up as he heard a voice. A familiar, haunting voice.

"And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?"

Drusilla. So what, the crazy vampiress had known my ancestor?

"No, no, no! Silly, silly girl." Another voice behind me. I turned to see another Drusilla, wearing the outfit from the Factory, cradling her Miss Edith. "Sh. Watch."

"Nothing. I wish to be alone," he replied.

"Oh, I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory." She paused, then swayed her body in an unnatural way. "That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head."

The young man backed away nervously.

"That's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."

Drusilla smiled. "Don't need a purse," she said, shaking her head like it was obvious. She pointed to his heart and head in succession.

"Your wealth lies here... and here. In the spirit and... imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine."

He was riveted, entranced by her.

__

"Oh, yes! I mean…no. I mean...Mother's expecting me."

Drusilla opened the collar of his shirt.

"I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something...effulgent."

Oh, no. Don't do this…

She's gonna…

"Effulgent," he echoed. 

__

"Do you want it?"

I saw the answer in his eyes.

"Oh, yes!" He reached forward. "God, yes."

Drusilla looked down for a moment. When she lifted her head again, a vampiric mask was on her porcelain features.

The young man drew back in confusion. Not fear. 

She pulled his shirt collar down and slowly sank her fangs into his neck. 

I turned away. The puzzle pieces clicked into place. 

Allergy to sunlight. Special liquid diet. Lack of mirrors in the house. The car incident…

William Summers. William. William the Bloody.

So very dense. I glanced at the second Drusilla, watching her smile as she rocked Miss Edith back and forth. The screams in the background were turning into moans, then slowly dying away completely.

"What else do you have to show me?" I asked quietly.

She smiled sweetly, looking innocently lost for a moment. And then began to sway, her gray eyes becoming bulbous and grotesque as the scene faded.

"What? What now?" I demanded.

Drusilla straightened, her hands on her temples, despair over her features.

"Slayer is coming. Bad, bad Slayer is coming…"

I woke up this morning with a pounding headache. And a knot of dread sinking in the pits of my belly. Lies, always lies. 

Oh, _Angie_ can't know the truth because she's too innocent. She's still a little kid. Of _course_ she has to be protected from the big, bad world.

Well, too bad. A little late for that, isn't it? Just a little too late. 

I am the Slayer. She who fights all the bad things that go bump in the night. She who slays demons…and vampires.

Right now it's about 5 in the morning. Before dawn. I'm going to get out of the house before…before everyone wakes up.

I can't face him right now.


	21. September 18, 2019 Part 2

A/N: Next chapter might take a while.

September 18, 2019—Later

I went to the address Ms. Robson had left me with a while ago. Her apartment. She let me in, surprisingly awake and dressed, a cup of tea in her hands. Surprised, yes. But also way too polite to get mad.

She asked me what had happened yesterday, if everyone was fine. I replied affirmative. Just peachy keen.

Then I asked her if she had any more books on the Scourge of Europe. Or if she knew any place with further information on the topic. She doesn't.

But the Council does. So naturally, I asked if we could contact the Council of Watchers.

Ms. Robson totally freaked. Reserved British lady to reserved Mrs. Hyde. No ranting or yelling, but plenty of suppressed rage.

I don't think she likes the Council very much. 

I'm going to have to find out the information on my own, I guess. But not at the moment. Right now, I have to be home.

__

I clicked the back door closed quietly, then tiptoed through the darkened kitchen to—

"Where were you, young lady?"

I grimaced. Dad. And with absolutely no trace of the events yesterday.

"Upstairs." I couldn't talk to him. Not till I knew exactly what I was dealing with.

For one, I was pretty sure the undead couldn't produce human offspring. So what did that make me?

"Stop." 

I jerked to a halt, despite myself. He was using that "pissed-off parent" voice again. I didn't turn around, just waited.

"Angela. I have something very important to ask you."

I sighed, turned around. "Yeah, I'm the Slayer, Dad."

He nodded, seeming to deflate a bit. "I see." He paused. "Since when?"

I shrugged. "Beginning of the school year, I guess. Haven't really kept track."

"I see." Those words again. A parody of Uncle Rupert. If only Dad had glasses…

I wanted to say something. That I knew, that he didn't have to hide it anymore. 

That it was all right.

I headed upstairs.

It could never be all right.

The Internet. What a marvelous piece of technology. It allowed for _anyone_ to access practically _anything_ from _anywhere_. And of course it didn't hurt that one of my aunts was a super computer geek. 

Hmm…what to search for, that was the question.

I needed to find out what the Council was really about. My Watcher obviously doesn't like them much. But there may be useful information in their database. Useful information about this town and the people who had all converged together in 1997. That's where all the dates of the previous research had shown. The Master of the Order of Aurelius, vanquished in the spring of 1997. And the Scourge of Europe, all showing up around the same time. Major coincidences. 

__

Not coincidence. Living in Sunnydale for so long disputed any chance of coincidence. Even Mom had said that there were two things she didn't believe in: coincidence and leprechauns. Well, I didn't believe in them either.

Time to find out exactly what the hell is going on.


	22. September 20, 2019

A/N: Just a short update.

September 20, 2019

So much and so little has been going on these past couple of days. So much in the way of research and getting a life. So little with the slayage.

I haven't patrolled these past two days because there simply wasn't any vamp activity. Which would probably mean something big was going to happen, and soon, knowing my luck.

I still haven't had a real talk with Dad yet. I know, I know, the more I put it off, the more awkward it will be in the end. But it's not like he doesn't know what a Slayer is.

He's killed two of them.

The research wasn't too bad. The first day after hacking into the Council's website, I downloaded a bunch of files. Ten minutes later, when I tried to get back into the site, there was a whole new system. Whoever designed the site knows some pretty good hackers. I couldn't get back in.

However, I _did_ get the info I needed.

1880, London. Sire: Drusilla. Earned new nickname due to nasty habit of driving railroad spikes through people's heads. Killed two Slayers, one in 1900, China, another in 1977, New York.

And a chip. Government regulation violence-inhibition behavior modification chip, implanted in the fall of 1999. Renders Hostiles harmless to humans.

There was nothing beyond that. Not if the chip still existed or not. Not if my father was an evil killer once again. The Council stuff wasn't very helpful, but considering how non-killing things he's been for the past 15 years, I'm guessing the chip still works.

Why else would a vampire stick around and have human family and friends? And how can I be born in the first place? I mean, of course I know how it's _done_ (at the tender age of 9, thank you very much, Aunt Anya), but it really shouldn't be possible. Was it part of a prophecy or something? Lots of those going on.

On to more interesting things. 

There's a new kid in band. He plays percussion, like me. He's really cute, but sort of pale, maybe even a little dead-looking. But I've seen him out in the sun. And he has the coolest blue hair. 

He's really shy and doesn't say much. I don't know his name, but I've heard people call him JB. I wonder if I could wheedle his name, phone number, and address from Ms. Robson.


	23. September 21, 2019

A/N: Sorry for the delay!! I wasn't sure which direction to take this for a while. And sorry if there are cliffhangers, really! I'll update as soon as I can.

September 21, 2019

He's extremely cute.

His name is JB Osbourne. Like the old MTV show. No one knows what "JB" stands for. He just moved from some exotic place (Tibet, I think I've heard) with a single parent (he's adopted) and is probably going to stay in Sunnydale indefinitely.

His wardrobe consists of plain T-shirts and khakis. No jeans. A very normal, even boring, wardrobe for a kid with brilliant blue hair. Oh, and he wears glasses. Round glasses that look like the ones Harry Potter wears. And he's skinny. Really, really skinny. And pale. But in a hot way, you know?

He's not a loud person at all, except for his hair. Which is extremely cool, if I haven't mentioned it. And he's in a band, which is also extremely cool. And he's extremely cute. 

But it's not like he even knows I exist.

Anyway. Onto worse news.

I tried to go out to patrol tonight. Bad consequences.

__

I dusted another newbie in the cemetery. The last one for tonight. 

"I expect we shall be back on schedule next week?" Ms. Robson asked, readjusting her glasses. She made a few notes on her clipboard. "I must say, too much banter. You need to focus more on your technique."

I just rolled my eyes. One learned to tune out her comments over time.

"It that it for tonight? Some people need their beauty rest."

She just sent a glare my way. "Alright, Angela. You may leave. But I expect you at my apartment at 10:30 sharp tomorrow morning."

Urg. 

Making my way home, I had just slipped through my window when I felt the little tingle again. 

Dad.

"Hi," I said meekly. Chipped or not, he could still be extremely scary.

Stormy blue eyes glowered at me. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Uh…" Then I remembered. Me, Slayer. "Hey, I had to go patrolling. Being the Chosen One and all, I have to go out at ungodly hours," I said defensively.

He continued glaring. "You could have told me you were going out alone. Pet, it's dangerous out there. You could've…I was worried."

Great. Dad was too good. First, bring out the terror. Now, make me feel guilty. Truly an evil master vampire.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "It's okay, though. I don't patrol alone."

Now he had that smirk.

"So, who do you go out with, pet?"

I swear my face turned redder than a tomato, before I realized what he had meant. Not my crush on JB, of course, but who I was patrolling_ with_.

"Uh…there's my Watch—" I babbled, trying to regain my cool. Hoping against hope Dad didn't notice my blush. 

Of course he did. That darn 20/20 vamp night vision.

"Are you seeing someone?" he growled. Uh-oh. Back to scary, overprotective parent voice.

"N-no! Of course not. No one will ever like me." Of course not. Like JB even notices me.

"Oh, sweetie. Don't ever think that way." He patted my shoulder like I was a little kid again. "And if any boy feels that way about my little girl, I'll snap his spine in two and make a chalice from his skull," he added with a growl, tousling my hair affectionately.

"Dad_!" I pulled away. "That's really disgusting."_

He shrugged. "Right." Uh-oh, the glower again. "Now, what was that about a boy?"

"Nothing! No guy at all. Nada. Zip."

He still eyed me suspiciously. "Alright. Angie, you know there is no dating until you turn 16. So don't try to pull anything."

"Dad!" I protested. "I'm not_!"_

"Right, luv. Anyway, next time you need to patrol, I'll go with you."

I wanted to protest. I mean, honestly, what teen wants her father out watching her every move? But that would only get him even more on my back. Time for another strategy.

"I really appreciate the offer, Dad. But I'm really not alone. I have this Watcher—"

His eyes narrowed and he practically vamped out. "A bloody WATCHER?!" He began to pace, muttering incomprehensible things under his non-existent breath.

"I'm going to find Rupert and tear him apart limb from bloody limb. Severed communications, my arse." 

I watched him pace a little longer.

"Um, right. Mind telling me what's going on for once_?" Nah, there was no implied bitterness. Why would there be? It wasn't like I'd been lied to my WHOLE FREAKING LIFE._

"Sorry, pet." Dad stopped pacing, staring at me way too intensely again. "It's just…those Watchers aren't exactly very reliable. Now, I need you to—"

"Dad, I know," I interrupted. "Ms. Robson told me that the Council was bad, yadda, yadda, yadda. She doesn't work for them, you know."

In a flash he was a less than a foot away, looking intently into my face. "Your Watcher doesn't work for the Council?" he hissed. 

I took a step back, bumping into the window frame. "Um, no?"

"Bloody hell." He began to pace again, then finally paused in front of me. "Listen, pet, don't communicate with your Watcher. She's not trustworthy. I'm going to make a few phone calls, and then you can take me to meet the double-dealing bint…" He glanced at my newly replaced alarm clock. "…in the morning. Until then, don't go meet her alone under any circumstances." He took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Tomorrow, I tell you everything, pet. You deserve to know the truth."

He kissed my forehead. "Good night, luv. Sleep tight."

Too late, Dad. I already know everything.

Right?


	24. September 22, 2019 Part 1

A/N: Really, really busy right now. But I promise to update a very long chapter tomorrow night!

September 22, 2019—Morning

It's not even 7 yet. But here I am, awake and writing, on a Saturday, no less. In a few minutes, Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander will get here with Jesse. Some sort of conference. We had a few things to spill, despite all that secrecy crap Ms. Robson preaches. Honestly, I couldn't just lie for the rest of my life. And I didn't know if Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander even knew about all the dangers of Sunnydale—

__

Ding-DONG!

They're here.

__

"Hey, Angie, how've you been?" Aunt Willow asked with a smile. She had a larger bag than usual and Uncle Xander carried a large box. Behind them, Jesse looked half-asleep.

"Fine, you?"

"Just peachy keen," Uncle Xander replied with a goofy grin. "Um, you know, why don't you go see a movie or something with Jesse? Maybe get an ice cream?"

__

"It's alright," Aunt Dawn said, coming out of the kitchen and taking the box from him. "She's the reason for this Scooby meeting." She peeked into the box and smiled. "Did you get jelly?"

Uncle Xander nodded, looking confused. "Huh?"

Jesse, meanwhile, looked much more awake. He glared at me. 

I just shrugged sheepishly.

"Red. Whelp treating you alright?"

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I wondered if Dad had a bad memory and just couldn't remember anybody's real name.

"We're all chipper, with a side of keen," Aunt Willow replied, elbowing Uncle Xander before he could make any remarks. "What's up?"

I felt Dad's eyes boring a hole in the back of my head. 

"Nothing much. Just felt it was time to exchange a few stories. Needed you here to help fill in the year or so of adventures I missed."

Aunt Willow stiffened. "We were going to raise the kids without…I thought…"

Aunt Dawn sighed. "Guys, everyone, come into the living room. I'll get some sodas."

A little while later, we all sat around the room, on sofas and the floor. Uncomfortably drinking Coke and eating powdered donuts. Bad powder. Stuck all over carpet.

"So, what's going on?" Jesse asked tentatively. He shot a look at me. "Um, I don't think I got into any trouble recently…"

"Don't worry, honey," Aunt Dawn said with a small smile. "You're not in trouble." She paused for a few moments, then glanced at my dad. "Spike, you want to tell them, or should I?"

Spike. Right, I knew that. But it was still just so…strange…to hear it.

Dad cleared his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable. Everyone stared at him, waiting. "Er, right. Um, that is…Oh, bloody hell."

We were getting nowhere fast.

I took a deep breath. "I'm the Slayer."

Okay, now that wasn't too bad, was it?

"What?!"

"Holy sh—"

"Angie! Do you remember the definition of 'secret?'"

"Hey! Quiet down!" Aunt Dawn yelled.

When Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander stopped yelling and Jesse had returned to giving me death glares, I continued. "First of all, Jesse, I didn't mean to let it out. It was sort of a critical moment. Well, I_ thought it was critical," I added, glaring at Dad. "Anyway, I didn't ask for this job. And I was going to try and explain the supernatural world to you guys, but seeing how shocked and non-confused you look, Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander, I'd say you know what a Slayer is."_

"How long?" Uncle Xander managed to ask.

I shrugged. "Since the first day of school. Less than a month."

He nodded. I expected Aunt Willow to ask questions, but she was staring at Jesse.

"You knew…" she whispered. "Oh, my poor baby." Suddenly Jesse was smothered in a bear hug.

"So you two have been fighting the 'forces of darkness' for a couple of weeks," Uncle Xander tried to rationalize. "Okay. Let me just start by saying just how insane this is. We are so not going down this path again." He looked around for support. "Am I right? Dawn? Spike?"

Dad didn't meet his gaze. Aunt Dawn stared steadily back at him.

"I mean, people, hello! We've done this already, gotten the T-shirts. And coffee mugs, beach towels, and tote bags. We know what happens to Slayers."

Aunt Willow was tugging on his arm, silently telling him to shut up before he said something he was going to regret.

"Am I the only one who thinks we should put a stop to this?" Uncle Xander demanded, standing up. "We fought to keep this world safe. To keep our children safe, out of this mess."

"Xander," Aunt Dawn said gently. "No one can do anything about it. Angie is Chosen. No one can change that."

"She's special. Like Buffy was," Dad added quietly.

Mom? What did my mother have to do with this?

Uncle Xander shook his head angrily. "That's the point. Buffy was very special, sure. And Buffy's also very dead."

"Alexander Lavelle Harris!" Aunt Willow whacked his arm hard. "That was out of line."

Uncle Xander seemed to just realize what he had said. Which wasn't exactly even that_ bad, really. I didn't see why Aunt Willow was so mad. Or why Aunt Dawn was staring at him with bloody murder written on her face._

"Sorry," he mumbled, not really talking to anyone.

Another awkward pause.

"Um, excuse me for a moment, but what does this have to do with my mother?" 

Aunt Dawn looked around the room, but no one else met her gaze but Aunt Willow and Jesse. She took a deep breath. "That's one of things we were going to talk to you about." She looked helplessly at Aunt Willow. "Willow, can you start? I'm not really sure how much of it I really remember and how much was, um…"

Aunt Willow gave her a quick smile and nodded to Uncle Xander.

"It all started the spring of 1997…"


	25. September 22, 2019 Part 2

A/N: Really sorry I couldn't get it out last night. But my Internet connection was taking forever. It wouldn't let me on to post! Argh!

Warning: Extremely angsty! Please don't kill me! Sorry if this chapter wasn't completely satisfying. I have a minor case of Writer's Block and am brainstorming future ideas and possible plot developments. Comments and suggestions welcome!

September 22, 2019—Still Morning

__

"It all started the spring of 1997. I remember it was a Monday. That's when the new girl, Buffy Summers, showed up. Our lives changed from that moment on." Aunt Willow gave Uncle Xander a slight smile. "Xander?"

"Uh, yeah. Back than, it was Wills, me, and…Jesse." Jesse's eyes widened and he stared at his father in confusion.

"Different Jesse," Aunt Willow clarified. "A friend." She smiled. "We were like the three Musketeers."

"Yeah," Uncle Xander agreed. "Only geekier."

"Buffy was special. The Slayer."

"What?!"

"No way!"

Impossible! My mother was the Sunnydale Slayer! The girl who averted the greatest number of apocalypses in history…

"Well, Xander found out about Buffy being the Slayer and then she saved me from a vamp. From then on, us three, with Giles as Buffy's Watcher, were practically inseparable. We fought vamps, demons, even gods. Always together."

Uncle Xander smiled goofily. "Ah, yes. The salad days. All the girls loved me…"

"Xander, that was a spell. And I came after you with an ax. Remember, Xander? Your love life in High School consisted of Mummy girl, Mantis lady, an ex-demon, and Cordelia."

Uncle Xander rolled his eyes. "Yes, thank you, Willow. But don't forget our brief affair. We had some good times with the gang. Remember Amy the Amazing Rat-girl from those Cheerleading tryouts Buffy dragged us to?"

"She didn't have to drag you_," Aunt Willow pointed out wryly._

"Um, what happened to Jesse?" his namesake asked.

"He was vamped. And staked," Uncle Xander said shortly. "Not important. Anyway, that year was when the Master tried to rise."

"So you guys just stopped him? How?" I asked, unable to quell my curiosity.

"Well…we didn't really stop him," Aunt Willow said sheepishly. "He rose. And killed Buffy."

"What?!"

Okay, seriously weird. Mom didn't die then_, right?_

"It was prophesied in the Codex or something. Buffy would face the Master, and she would die. But she got better."

"Huh?"

"I resuscitated her," Uncle Xander said proudly. "Me, not Dead-boy. Gave her mouth-to-mouth, CPR."

"Dead-boy? Who?"

"Angel," Aunt Willow explained. "See, when Buffy first moved here, there was this guy that was always around, warning her when bad things were going to happen, first with the Harvest, then with the fork-guy when Miss Mantis Lady was around. Tall, dark, and brooding."

"Oh, you mean Uncle Angel? Wait a minute…he was stalking my mother?"

Uncle Xander laughed and Aunt Willow punched him good-naturedly.

"No, no he wasn't stalking her. He was…um…"

"A bloody poof," Dad supplied helpfully. 

"…Buffy's first boyfriend," Aunt Willow finished. "And a vampire."

I couldn't believe this. What was wrong with my mother? 

"Um, was she some type of sick necrophiliac or something?" I asked hesitantly.

Five pairs of eyes stared back at me, with varying degrees of disbelief and shock.

"Well, you know, the whole dating vampires thing. Did she get turned on by corpses or something? And isn't sleeping with dead bodies…illegal?"

They continued to stare at me.

"What did you say?" Aunt Dawn asked. Still in shock. 

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "I'm not that_ big an idiot. Dear old Dad is undead, right?"_

Judging by the silence in the room, I had hit the bulls' eye.

"Angie, you don't know what you're saying," Aunt Dawn began. "It wasn't—"

"So, what? My mother was a necrophiliac Slayer who enjoyed sleeping with soulless, evil undead. That must have been the key to surviving so long in the business. Huh."

"Angela Joyce—"

"I know exactly what I'm saying. Mom got off on it, didn't she? Sleeping with—"

It happened so fast I didn't even see it. One moment I was in the midst of talking. The next I was reeling backwards. My cheek stung. Hot tears sprang to my eyes.

Aunt Dawn looked shocked. "Angie, I'm so, so sorry—"

Back upstairs in my room. Sulking, _not_ brooding.

This wasn't fair. I didn't ask to be born into this crazy family. I didn't ask for my mother to be a necrophiliac Slayer. Didn't ask to be Chosen. 

Didn't ask for any of it.

Someone's knocking on my door. Great.

__

Tingles. Dad.

Great.

"Pet, can I come in?"

"You don't need an invitation."

I heard him sigh. Not like he needed to breathe, either.

"I'm being polite. Which is something you should look into, young lady." He came in anyway and shut the door, sitting on the bed next to me. Cold, always cold. "That was out of line." 

I narrowed my eyes. "Was it?"

Dad glared back. "Yes. It. Was. Your mum was a good person. You had no right to judge her, to-to…"

We sat there silently for a while.

"I'm really, really confused," I blurted out. "I don't understand any of what is going on. Mom was the Slayer? And she had some type of relationship with Uncle Angel?" I laughed suddenly. Something had just clicked. "And Uncle Angel…Angel. Angelus, right? Your grandsire? Boy, what an incestuous family I have."

Dad cracked a small smile. "He's a bloody poofter."

I smiled back for a brief moment. Then cracked. "Dad, why did you stay with her? Vampires don't have souls. They're supposed to be evil, right? That's why I go out and kill them every night. They aren't supposed to be capable of emotion. They aren't supposed to love." The tears started again before I could think about stopping them.

Dad looked really uncomfortable. He patted my back awkwardly, handing me a Kleenex. "There, there."

A pause.

"Peaches has a soul."

"What?" I sniffled and blew my now-red nose. "He has a soul? Well, no wonder he's so lame. I mean, what kind of poor excuse for a vampire has a soul?"

Dad nodded, a funny look on his face. "Er, right. He got cursed with it. Gypsies."

"Oh." My turn to nod. "Well, at least he's not a total wuss. Not like he went off and got it 'cause he felt guilty for all the bad things he's done. Or worse yet, went off and got it to make Mom happy. That would be majorly 'trashy soap opera' sappiness. Glad to know not even Uncle Angel's that lame."

Dad cleared his throat. "Uh, right," he said quickly. "Um, if you've cooled down, why don't we go back downstairs? Got an hour before 10:30."

I nodded. Sure. So Mom wasn't a necromancer. Great. Now to hear the rest of the tale.


	26. September 22, 2019 Part 3

A/N: Much fluffier. And I apologize for the cliffhanger, really!!

September 22, 2019—Late Morning

All's better on the home front.

__

I trudged behind Dad down the stairs. And found an entourage waiting for us at the bottom.

"Sorry," Aunt Dawn apologized immediately. "I-I didn't mean—"

"It's okay." No, it really wasn't okay. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that about Mom."

Aunt Dawn gave a timid smile and drew me into a hug. 

I smiled back and turned towards Uncle Xander and Aunt Willow. "Um, can you finish the story?"

Aunt Willow nodded. "Sure, sweetie. Your mom was a wonderful person. In the first year she was here, she saved all of us at one point or another, multiple times. The best friend we ever had. There were all sorts of demons drawn to the Hellmouth: giant praying-mantises, psychotic witches who switched bodies with their daughters to be Cheerleaders, hyena-people, computer-generated demons, possessed dummies, real nightmares, and invisible people, to name a few. Xander was possessed by a hyena spirit and targeted by the She-mantis because—"

"Hey!" Uncle Xander cut in. "Let's not go there, shall we? I seem to remember a certain redheaded girl who had an evil online boyfriend. What was his name? Malcolm or something?"

She blushed. "We all made a few stupid mistakes."

"Right...and the Master? How did Mom kill him?"

"Oh, that was really cool," Uncle Xander said eagerly. "See, he opened the Hellmouth in June, the night of the Spring Fling, actually. After the Buffster had her little drowning episode, she went and fought old Bat-face on the school roof. Pushed him through a skylight. He landed, ended up impaled on a table leg. Dusted, but his bones were still left. We buried him under a tree."  


"What?" Okay, that didn't sound too weird. "What about the Hellmouth?"

"Closed when he dusted," Aunt Willow supplied helpfully. "Of course, then those pesky vamps had to try and raise him that fall…"

Jesse, who had been silent this whole while, piped up again. "I thought vamps stayed dead when you dusted them."

"Most do," Dad cut in before Aunt Willow could answer. "Then there's Darla."

I frowned. "Darla? As in the vamp that turned Uncle Angel?"

Uncle Xander looked equally confused. "I thought Dead-boy staked him."

"Yeah. Peaches did."

"So…"

"Whelp, do you think the stork brought Peaches Jr.? I thought Red would have taught you the facts of life by now." Dad smirked. "Well, you see, usually the process usually only works with two members of the same species, but seeing as how you've got Whelp Jr.—"

"Hey!" Uncle Xander protested. "I know what…HEY!"

"Thanks for that disturbing visual, Spike," Aunt Dawn interrupted. "Back on track here?"

"Yeah," I added. "It's about 10:15 already. I have to go meet Ms. Robson."

"Ms. Fake-Watcher? We'll come with you," Uncle Xander said quickly. 

I shook my head. "Too suspicious. We can't let her know we're on her. Besides, I don't even know if she's really evil."

"Of course she's evil," Aunt Willow said. "She lied about the Council. And she's been basically controlling you for the past couple of weeks. Who knows what could happen if you go alone?"

"I'm going with her, Red. No need to worry."

Aunt Willow sighed in exasperation. "That's_ why I'm worried, Spike."_

Dad smirked. "I wasn't planning on killing anybody before…before I've had a little fun." He cocked his head, a perfectly innocent look on his face. "Say, anyone know where a bloke can find decent railroad spikes these days?"

So childish. "Argh! There will be no slaying of my Watcher, okay? She might have lied, but she was still the one who trained me and took me out on my first patrol. Ms. Robson's helped me out a lot."

__

I pointedly ignored Dad's muttered comments and looked around the room. "Okay? I'm going alone. I'll see what's going on."

__

"No bloody way."

"Well, if certain people are a little more mature and stop joking about driving spikes through other people's heads…" I said wryly.

Dad sighed. "Fine. Take the fun out of everything."

"Just like a Slayer," Aunt Dawn added.

I shrugged. "Okay then, let's go. Don't wanna be late."

Dad gave me a wink. "Just need to find something first."

He disappeared into the basement.

Time to meet the pseudo-Watcher. Apparently, Dad had called the Council behind my back. Called Uncle Rupert, to be exact. Rupert Giles, Head of Council.

Just what else didn't I know?

Anyway, apparently Ms. Robson didn't exist. Or wasn't supposed to. Natalie Robson had died 5 years ago in Madrid, on a field assignment. So who was impersonating her? And why was she helping me?

__

The car screeched to a sudden stop. I let go of the breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. Dad's driving was a little on the dangerous side, even in optimal conditions. Factor in the thick black paint that covered the windshield. I didn't see how anyone could see through that.

"Ready to go, pet?"

I nodded. "After surviving that car trip, I'm ready for just about anything."

He smirked back at me. Very unsettling. A very non-parental type of smirk. Especially given that he had slicked his unbleached hair back and was wearing a long, black leather coat and combat boots. More bad-boy punk than father figure.

Very non-parental indeed.

"Okay, so remember, no killing or torturing. Not until Uncle Rupert gets here, at least."

He didn't answer, just gave me that smirk again.

Dad threw on a blanket and ran outside first, stopping under the overhang. We walked into the building, me keeping slightly ahead. What teen wanted her dad to follow that closely?

I rang the doorbell to her apartment. The woman who claimed to be my Watcher answered immediately.

"Angela! You're 5 minutes late! A Slayer must be punctual, always…who is that?" She stared past me. "Angela, did someone else find out?" she asked, sounding exasperated. "You must learn the value and meaning of secrecy."

"Uh, yeah, that. I didn't really mean for him to find out," I explained. "There was…a bad situation."

Dad cleared his throat. "Um, may we come in?" Perfect, polished Uncle Rupert-like accent.

"Come in, come in." She waved her hands. Oooh. Bad, bad decision. "Best the neighbors not find out as well." I stepped through, waiting for all hell to break loose.

Dad grinned smugly, stepping through the door after me.

"'Ms. Robson', my daughter has told me quite a bit about you," he said with a smirk, casually closing the door and locking it. He leaned against the wall, keeping far away from the patches of sunshine on the ground on the other side of the room, next to the windows. Looking quite out of place, black leather in suburban living room.

"Th-this is your father?" My Watcher frowned. Looked confused, not scared. "Well, Mr. Summers, I must say you look quite young to have such a grown-up daughter."

Dad kept on smirking. "Uh-huh. Enough of the small talk. Now, who the bloody hell are you?"

Ms. Robson frowned. She was about to say something. Then happened to look in the small mirror hanging on the adjacent wall. The room was clearly reflected, showing her standing next to the sofa, me a few paces away. And the seemingly unobstructed doorway.

She looked back at Dad, her face ashen. He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"You…you're a vampire."

He merely shrugged. "Well, yeah. Not the brightest crayon in the box, hmm?"

She back away, knocking over a few trinkets on a side table. "Angela, vampire! Wh-where's your stake?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Ms. Robson, meet my dad."

She stared at us, shifting her eyes back and forth. 

"Y-you're father is a-a…"

"Name's Spike. Used to go by 'William the Bloody.'" He held out a hand. "And you are…"

Ms. Robson didn't look nearly as dignified or reserved as she had moments ago.


	27. September 22, 2019 Part 4

September 22, 2019—Still Late Morning

__

My Watcher's eyes just got bigger and bigger. And her face was changing rapidly from a pallid gray to a florid scarlet.

"You-you're lying," she babbled. "This simply cannot be."

Dad smirked. And pulled out a long piece of metal with sharp ends. How he had managed to conceal that in his coat was beyond me.

"Now. I'm going to ask just one more time. Who are you?"

I think she was going to answer. Really. But then Dad just had_ to start twirling the railroad spike._

So she fainted. And guess who had to drag her out through the sunshine to the car?

Well. That was anti-climatic. Especially now that there's a tied-up Watcher in my living room. 

Aunt Dawn is yelling at Dad for scaring the poor woman half to death. Even if she is evil. And Aunt Willow is making some sort of soup. Or possibly a potion. Apparently she's a witch with magical powers.

Does anyone really expect me to believe that? Okay, okay. So there are some things I can accept. That's because I myself am a Slayer, and thus have seen vamps and demons around town. So I can believe that Mom was a Slayer and Dad is a vamp. But honestly, a _witch_? Aunt Willow doesn't have green skin or warts. She doesn't wear a pointy black hat or ride on a broomstick.

Right?

I just hope no one's a werewolf or alien form outer space. That would just be nuts. I mean, honestly.

Oh, some good news. Uncle Rupert is coming over! He's due to be here in a few more hours.

And meanwhile, Uncle Xander will tell Jesse and me some more stories.

__

"…and then it turned out that Catherine had switched bodies with Amy. So it was really Catherine, not Amy, who hexed all those girls."

"Uncle Xander, so witches are real?"

He nodded toward the kitchen. "As real as anything else. I mean, I married one."

I was still skeptical. I hadn't ever seen Aunt Willow actually do_ anything magical._

"Well, anyway, let's skip over the episode with She-mantis. Then there was that time when Buffy had a crush on this kid named Owen, before she got together with Dead-boy. That was around the time when the Anointed One was supposed to rise. So while Giles was all busy researching in his dusty books, Buffy was checking out books by Emily Dickinson and mooning over Mr. Morbid Poet. One night, me and Wills barge in on the couple in the middle of their date, 'cause Giles went to look for the Anointed One alone and sort of got trapped in a funeral home with an insane vamp. So the Buffster bails on her date and rushes off to the morgue. No problem, right?"

Uncle Xander looked around, almost like he's expecting a response. Jesse and I, still processing his words, didn't give him one.

"Well, anyway, Owen's decided to follow us. To the funeral home. After almost getting killed, the kid comes up to Buffy the next day and asks if they can go do something like that again. Totally insane. And we didn't even bag the Anointed One."

He paused. "Hey, Wills, finished with the truth spell potion thingie?" he yelled into the kitchen.

"Not yet. Stop distracting me!"

Uncle Xander shook his head. "Right. Anyway, then there a tiny episode with hyena spirits, but let's skip to more important things. Like the demonic boyfriend Willow got…"

Okay. That had apparently been a very interesting semester. Lots of strange phenomena had happened at the Hellmouth. Phenomena that have been observed only rarely ever since the Hellmouth was closed last. Which had been more than 7 years ago, according to Uncle Xander, in a few quickly glossed-over details.

Aunt Dawn's going to go pick up Uncle Rupert now. And Aunt Willow's "potion" is ready.

Time to go see if Aunt Willow's a real witch. And to see exactly who Ms. Robson is.

__

"Drink this," Aunt Willow ordered. "There's more than one way this can go down," she added darkly.

Ms. Robson gave her a glare and swallowed the mug of smelly brown liquid.

"Okay then. Elobe, enemy, be now, quiet. Let your deceitful tongue be silent. Let no untruths be spoken." Aunt Willow circled around the chair in which Ms. Robson sat, tied up, and sprinkled gray powder on the carpet. She held up the small bundle of twigs and nodded. "Ready."

Dad tossed her a small silver lighter and she set the bundle on fire. Wasn't that a fire hazard?

The burning twigs billowed gray smoke into the room. The smoke smelled bitter and acrid. Almost like burnt plastic.

Not like I_ knew what burnt plastic smelled like, of course._

"Okay, question time." Aunt Willow looked around. "Ask before the herbs are all burnt."

"What are you doing here?"

She stared stonily at Uncle Xander. "To exact revenge."

"Revenge? Against what?"

"The Council."

"So, who are you? As in, the real you?"

"Lydia. Lydia Chalmers." 

"That doesn't sound very intimidating," I commented.

"Hmm…sounds familiar, doesn't ring a bell. What are you?"

"Former employee of the Watcher's Council."

"Another_ Gwendolyn Post?" Uncle Xander asked with an exaggerated sigh. "When are you British chicks going to get a little more original?"_

She gave him another glare and opened her mouth to answer.

"Um, that was a rhetorical question," Aunt Willow said hastily. "Okay, so you don't like the Council. Fine. But why were you masquerading as Natalie Robson? And what are you doing here_? With the Slayer?"_

The woman shrugged. "I wanted to train her. Make her my Slayer. And then wage a war against the Council with the Slayer at my side. Payback. Natalie Robson was convenient."

Convenient? Did that mean she stole somebody's body or something?

"Do you know who we are?" Aunt Willow asked. The bundle of twigs was almost completely burnt.

The pseudo-Watcher frowned. "Some of you. Civilian friends of Buffy Summers. You are Willow Rosenberg. You were on level five of magical proficiency. With the other witch." She turned and looked at Uncle Xander. "You are Alexander Harris. No special skills, no fighting techniques." She stared at Jesse for a moment. "You I don't know." She moved on to Dad. "You are William the Bloody. I…I wrote my thesis on you." And I swear she blushed.

"Bloody hell! You're that addle-brained Watcher who interviewed me during the incident with that bint Glory."

Right…

"Y-you remember me."

And worst of all, the woman was smiling in a very inappropriate way. At my father.

Eww! Bad, bad mental images. Bad, bad thoughts!

"Hey, people! Back to the topic?"

"Um, right. Say, isn't Rupert supposed to be along shortly?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. Real soon, hopefully. Then at least there'll be somebody mature around here."

I headed upstairs, hearing Uncle Xander's distant voice emanating from the living room.

"Hey, I'm mature!"

Whatever. I really hope Uncle Rupert gets here soon. Aunt Willow is pretty responsible, most of the time. And Aunt Dawn can act grown-up at times. But seriously, Dad and Uncle Xander can be worse than Jesse in the acting up department. I mean, I know guys mature more slowly than girls; they gave us a lecture about that in 5th grade. Along with other, more disgusting topics…

Anyway. Shouldn't 30-something years be enough for maturity to kick in? Or in Dad's case, something like over a hundred. Jeez. Maybe some guys just lacked the maturity gene.

Luckily Uncle Rupert's pretty safe. I bet he was born in tweed, with glasses. I can imagine tweed diapers…


	28. September 22, 2019 Part 5

A/N: A short update before the new action starts.

September 22, 2019—Night

Well. That was anti-climatic. Apparently my Watcher was really one Lydia Chalmers, masquerading as Natalie Robson, a real, albeit dead, Watcher, who's sole purpose was to train me and thus make me loyal to her so that I would be on her side when she finally decided to declare war on the Council. All because she got fired.

No ulterior motive whatsoever.

Anyway, Uncle Rupert got here and I think he's still downstairs lecturing poor Ms. Chalmers about some subject or other. We all stayed for the first hour or so, then his words kinda blended together into one long drone and I made up an excuse to leave. I know, very bad. But Uncle Rupert _can_ be tedious at times, obsessive-compulsively wiping off his glasses every once in a while and lecturing about duty and responsibility and right and wrong.

I think some people are coming over to take her back to England. Maybe a trial or something? Prison? Or maybe just give her the old job back? You never knew with Uncle Rupert.

Well, that's it for now. Everybody left about half an hour ago. Nothing to do but get some sleep. 

School tomorrow. I wonder if we're getting a substitute in band.


	29. September 24, 2019 Part 1

September 24, 2019—1st Period

I swear Tuesdays are jinxed.

Right now, I'm sitting in band with nothing to do. Well, that's not exactly true. I have a ton of backed-up homework I could be working on. Like memorizing the parts of a car in French. Who needs to know that? I don't think I even know all that stuff in _English_. Anyway, no teacher. And they forgot to send a substitute.

These British guys landed from a helicopter sometime last night and picked Ms. Robson—no, Lydia Chalmers—up. Uncle Rupert is still with us, sleeping off the jet lag, I guess.

First off—I was woken up at around 5:30. By Aunt Anya, who seemed to have suddenly and inexplicably "appeared" in Dad's room, thus causing him to curse very loudly and bang into furniture. AN Aunt Anya swears she didn't have anything to do with the fact that he couldn't find his pants. I can almost remember some repressed memory explaining that part, but I pushed it down before I had to barf. 

Anyway, I didn't buy Aunt Anya's explanation that she had climbed in through a window. Maybe because the windows in that room were locked and practically bolted shut?

I think she might be a witch. A witch that doesn't look a day over 21. But she definitely has both a pulse and a reflection. And no tingles when she's around.

She said she came because strange disturbances had rocked her community. What community?

Then Aunt Dawn explained about finally clueing me in. How I had found out about the supernatural elements in this town. So then Aunt Anya spilled everything: she was referring to the demon community, of course. Something big was going down. Something unnatural, chaotic. Against both the human _and_ demon order, which is unusual.

But then I had to go to school. There was a row of army trucks blocking the parking lot, which is extremely weird. Must be for Career Week.

Huh. I thought that was in November. Must've remembered it wrong or something. 

Oh, crap. Here's the sub.


	30. September 24, 2019 Part 2

A/N: Really sorry about yesterday. I'm never home on Tuesday nights, meaning I never post then. Sorry! And if you're in the US, watch _Buffy_ then!

September 24, 2019—3rd Period

A few minutes after 2nd period started, Principal Wood came on the intercom and announced a school-wide assembly. No reason, nothing.

Huh. Usually Wood explained when he made us do stuff, unlike most principals, I guess. And he's not even that old for a principal, not much older than Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander. 

Anyway. It turned out that the "assembly" was actually called because this Special Ops organization in the government lost one of their maximum-security prisoners and they thought he'd come _here_. Which is just great, you know. So then these spies or agents or whatever got up on stage, all dressed up in camo, and started telling us to be careful and stuff. Meanwhile, a whole bunch of military guys went searching the school. Including our lockers and classrooms.

Can anyone say violation of Constitutional amendments?

Anyway, their spokesperson and big "boss" R. Finn started warning us about what to do if we encountered this criminal guy. Who was supposedly a 60-something old man. And we were supposedly to do anything possible to contain him, on sight. Meaning he was extremely dangerous, wanted dead or alive. 

Seriously, an old man who'd been in containment for almost 20 years…how much trouble could he be? It seemed like a big joke, especially considering what's really in this town. They wanted us to beware of some old man when the Hellmouth was under this very school. Besides, he's been missing for about a month. So he would probably have already done whatever act of terrorism he was planning by now, if in fact he was going to do something.

Anyway, the troops are here to stay, for several weeks at least. Which means school hours will be seriously cut.

At least we're getting _something_ out of this little breach of the Constitution (we're going over the amendments right now in history).

Anyway, on to more important things. At the assembly I noticed JB was looking at me!

JB. At ME!!

When I looked at him, he glanced away really quickly. And Jamie, of course, had to whisper that he was checking me out in a really loud voice. I'm pretty sure half the school heard it.

Sometimes I wish that Jamie would—

Ooh, almost got caught there. Math teacher asked a question. Something about matrices, which I was supposed to be solving with my calculator, which is lying—half-obscured by an unneeded sweatshirt—on my desk. I said I entered something wrong into the calc and she left me alone. 

I hate matrices. I mean, when do you even need to know how to use them in real life?

Forget matrices; I hate math in general. Now what was I writing? Crap, I forgot. Oh well.

Anyway, the new shortened days will get me some more time alone, out of the protective bubble everyone seems to put me in. I'm the Slayer, for Goodness' sakes! I mean, I have to patrol with _Dad_ now. How am I supposed to do that? How's a Slayer supposed to work with parental supervision? I know he can take care of himself, but I'm still gonna be extra worried on patrol. And then _Uncle Rupert_ insists on training me. Uncle Rupert!! He's gonna be my Watcher, until they get a new one in.

So majorly not fun. And Jesse's not even allowed to go patrolling with me anymore, which is so not fair. But just because he isn't allowed doesn't mean he necessarily_ won't_. 

Oh, I gotta go. We're doing something with transient or transportation or t-something-or-other matrices. Don't understand 'em, probably never will.

Why does a Slayer even have to go to high school in the first place?


	31. September 24, 2019 Part 3

A/N: Wow, you guys are good! Hit the nail on the head with one stroke.

September 24, 2019—6th Period

Mlle Madison just left to get our tests from the teachers' lounge. Really bad; I can't believe I forgot about the freaking test! But then again, there's been a lot going on lately. So it's not entirely my fault. 

Jesse had said he was coming over after school, most likely to plead with Uncle Rupert about being allowed to go patrolling. Not like he'd crack. Uncle Rupert might be lenient in some areas, but in the field of Slayer business, he was a rock.

Anyway, it now appears that the entire town of Sunnydale is under military rule. Like we're being invaded by the military, really. Plus with the new curfews, I'm going to have a hard time going out on patrol.

Oh, I gotta go. Mlle Madison is back, and she's staring at me with this glare that makes me feel like she wants to turn me into a rat or something.

Preparing to fail French…


	32. September 24, 2019 Part 4

September 24, 2019—Night

I can't believe what has just happened. Or even the fact that I'm sitting in a corner of a sprawling underground military base.

Let's start at the sort-of beginning. 8:00. It was dark out, thus time for patrol. Dad and I set out for the usual vamp gathering-places. 

__

"Pet, do you know why there are all those trucks around town?"

I shrugged, picking up the pace. No vamps out, and it was already our second cemetery.

"Dunno. A bunch of them came to school and these soldier-type guys gave us an assembly and searched the school. Supposedly some 60-something criminal escaped to Sunnydale. Load of bull sh…crap, if you ask me," I said, barely catching myself. So not_ the time to get in trouble for cursing._

I was so wrapped up in scanning around the tombstones that I didn't even notice Dad stiffen and stop.

"Soldiers? Government boys?" His voice took on a slightly odd tone. 

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Why?"

"No reason. Uh, there sure aren't a lot of vamps out tonight, huh?"

I narrowed my eyes, instantly suspicious. "What is—"

Which is when I was suddenly tackled to the ground. By a guy dressed all in black with a ski mask. Dad went down soon after, courtesy of another ski-mask guy. A dozen of the guys in ski masks with high-tech weapons emerged from carefully hidden positions. 

"Hey, what the hell?" I shoved the guy off. He had just rolled to his feet and raised his very gun-like thing toward me when another one of them called him off.

"Hold your fire, soldier. The girl's a civilian. Hostile at 9 o'clock."

The guy ran off to join the two ski-mask guys hanging around my dad. The two guys who needed serious help. One of them was being used like a punching bag, whereas his buddy was knocked out. At least, I really hoped he was unconscious.

"Hey, hey, hey!" I shoved my way into the fray, helped pin those weird guys down. "Who the fu—um…who are you guys?" Even while I was talking to the guy I had pinned to the ground, I felt Dad's glare on the back of my head.

Click. Click. Click. Clickclickclickclickclickclick.

I glanced up and noticed 9 muzzles pointed at me and Dad. Very disconcerting.

"Um, don't shoot?" I tentatively raised my hands in the air. Even Slayer reflexes couldn't avoid all of those weapons at once. Besides, there was Dad to worry about, right?

"Civilian, walk away from the Hostile."

"Huh?"

I heard a loud snort from my right.

"That's right, pet. Walk away from the 'Hostile.'" Dad gave a dry chuckle. "Let me guess. Initiative, or whatever you wankers are calling it these days?"

The weapons hovered uncertainly. 

"Make one move and your men are dead," he added coldly, gripping his guy tightly around the neck. The man in the ski mask began to struggle.

"Dad! What are you doing?" I demanded, shocked. Then it clicked. The Initiative. The organization that had chipped William the Bloody and kept him on a short leash ever since the fall of '99.

The behavior modification chip which should have prevented Dad from hurting these people.

"Listen," he was now saying very calmly, slightly loosening his grip. "You soldier boys are going to put your nice, shiny weapons down on the ground. Then, you are going to all turn around and walk away. And then we'll release these nice blokes and you can all go your merry little way to hell." Dad suddenly cocked his head. "Don't try and tattle to your little boss," he snarled at a ski-mask guy on the left.

Too late. The guy had finished sending his message. And help was already on the way.

Feet pounded over the ground. Lots of feet in heavy boots.

"Hold your positions!" a somewhat familiar voice yelled. "Do not listen to the Hostile. It must be retained at any cost—" The voice stopped abruptly as bright beams of light momentarily blinded me. "Buffy? Spike?"

The lights faded quickly. I felt hands on my shoulders. "Buffy, what are you doing here? With him_?" I blinked, my vision starting to clear._

"Hey, get your bloody hands off my daughter!" I heard a fleshy "thump" and then the hands were quickly removed from my shoulders.

My vision had fully returned. And it wasn't exactly pleasant to see dozens of high-tech weapons trained on Dad, glaring down at what seemed like the leader of the ski-mask guys. Tall and big, like Uncle Angel. Only less broody and way less hair gel. Oh, I remember where I saw him before! It was in the auditorium at school today, at the assembly. Only he had been minus a black eye then.

"D-daughter?" he sputtered, staring wildly at me. "You're Spike's daughter_?"_

"Uh, yeah. Mr. Finn, right?" I pulled him up.

He blinked, nodded, the shock still plastered on his face. "You-you aren't Buffy?"

I rolled my eyes. Maybe this guy was a little slow. "No, Mr. Finn. My name is Angela Summers. And," I paused, glancing around. "And just why are there military troops in the cemetery, trampling on people's graves?"

He followed my gaze to the few overturned headstones and footprints scattered all over the ground, made very visible by the stadium lights, which were (thankfully) aimed away from my face.

Mr. Finn colored. "Oh, that. Miss…Miss Summers, am I correct in assuming you are the Slayer?" 

I nodded, but I don't think he was even looking at me. He stared right over my head. I could practically feel the focused tension where his gaze met my father's. Almost like observing a fight for dominance in a wolf pack on the Discovery channel.

"Perhaps it would be better if you—both of you—follow me back to the base. I think explanations are in order," Mr. Finn said tightly. He turned to the still very alert and very tense ski-mask guys behind him. "At ease."

So here I am, waiting for Mr. Finn to finish changing or whatever. Dad keeps making disparaging comments about a certain "Captain Cardboard" every once in a while. And I don't think he likes Mr. Finn very much, and vice versa. Plus, what's up with the chip? Was that whole thing a lie in the first place, or did it malfunction or something? Gotta ask about that later.

This is so boring.


	33. September 25, 2019

September 25, 2019—Very Early Morning

__

I was in a crowded, bustling place. Walking through racks of items, pushing past strange clothing. No, not clothing, costumes.

There it was, in front of me. A poofy red and pink ball gown, something from the 17th or 18th century, perhaps. 

Every girl's childhood dream gown, complete with lots of lace and ribbons.

"I'm sorry, it's just…look at this."

I didn't even realize I had spoken.

"It's amazing," a voice agreed from directly behind me. I resisted the urge to jump as I recognized the voice. Aunt Willow. But why was she here?

"Too bulky," Uncle Xander's voice added. "I prefer my women in spandex."

"Eww. That's really gross, Uncle Xander," I commented. Uncle Xander merely looked confused. Before he could say anything, a man walked out from the shadows.

"Please, let me." Ooh, British accent. I surveyed him carefully. Didn't look_ evil, or wear tweed. Kinda cute, actually, if he was like, 15 years younger. Huh. Brain does not compute. Begin immediate shutdown…_

The man took the dress off the wire-frame mannequin. 

"Oh, i-it's…"

"Magnificent," he finished, with a rather smug smile. "Yes, I know."

He held it up in front of a mirror that I hadn't noticed until now. "There. My, meet the hidden princess."

I stared into the mirror. It was pretty dark in that store, but I could still distinguish my face. And Uncle Xander, Aunt Willow, and the stranger behind me. But something was…off. Something about this whole scene…

I frowned.

"I think we found a match. Don't you?"

I glanced sharply at the stranger. He merely gave a smug smile.

"Wait a minute…"

My eyes were drawn suddenly, inexplicably, to the mirror again. A scene was slowly swirling into existence even as I watched.

My house, front door. There was Uncle Xander, by the door itself…with a gun? Uncle Angel had just stepped in and was talking to…me? Me, in the ball gown, with a wig.

"Buffy, I'm lost here. You…what's up with your hair?"

The girl had jumped when he called her Buffy. Buffy. Of course. Another little trip through Mom's memories.

I tuned back in, now seeing that there was another girl there, dressed like a cat…Aunt Cordy!

"You take the princess and secure the kitchen," Uncle Xander was saying. "Cat-woman, you're with me."

Uncle Angel headed for the kitchen, followed closely by my mother. Who looked a little too much like me for comfort.

"But I don't want to go with you," she was saying. "I-I like the man with the musket!"

Ooo-kay…

Uncle Angel grabbed her arm and pulled her in. "C'mon."

"Do you have a musket?"

The door was open. 

"I didn't leave that open," Uncle Angel muttered. He moved quietly toward the back door, closing it.

Suddenly the door behind Mom opened. Vampire! Get him, Mom!

Or not. Mom tried to push the door closed, looking absolutely terrified. Huh? No stake?

Uncle Angel grabbed the vampire and wrestled him to the floor.

"A stake!" 

"A what?"

What's wrong with Mom?

"Get me a stake!" Uncle Angel demanded.

Mom looked around, grabbed a knife on the counter. Uh, was she feeling alright?

"Hurry up!"

He turned to look at her. Game face on.

"YAHHHHH!" 

Out, out and away.

"Buffy, no!"

I jerked back from the mirror, once again aware of my surroundings. That same man was here, chuckling. The man from the costume shop.

"Enjoy my little show?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes. "And just who the hell are you?"

His smile widened. "A harmless old man," he replied with a wink. "Just a harmless old man, little girl."

"I'm not a little girl," I said automatically.

He shrugged and spread his hands wide. "Whatever you say."

"Why are you here?"

He grinned. "Why? Because—"

"Pet, time to wake up."

I jerked away from my dream, stared into the too-bright room that was all white. The chair I had fallen asleep on made my limbs cramp, but the soft leather coat had made it slightly more tolerable.

"Huh?"

Okay, not the most intelligent response. But I had just awoken from a somewhat creepy dream and wasn't exactly sure where I was.

"Captain Cardboard's finished wanking off, pet. Let's go have a little talk with him."

Dad, with that disturbing smirk, once again. 

White walls. Secret government base.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Dozed off."

We walked down a narrow, extremely sterile hallway, following a crew-cut guy in camouflage and trailed by two others. All three extremely tense, with big, shiny weapons. 

So_ not liking this._

After walking for an eternity and getting the disturbing feeling that I had seen this before—it was where Aunt Faith had last spoken to me! Before she got vamped. In a dream.

Okay. This wasn't too weird.

We stopped in front of a smooth white door. White on white. This was a little too_ much déjà vu. At least there wasn't a singing voice this time._

The soldier in front stopped, leaned in towards what must have been a hidden microphone.

"Authorization Code: Sierra-Uniform-Mike-Mike-Echo-Romeo-Sierra 22/7."

The door flashed open. Okay, at least this wasn't my bathroom.

Huh? Bathroom? The information left my brain the moment I tried to catch it. Crap.

Inside the door was a nicely furnished office, walls painted a soft yellow, with leather-backed seats and potted plants. Not the stark white-on-white in the rest of this insane asylum. The soldiers stood back.

Dad and I had barely stepped inside when the door "fwooshed" shut.

"Welcome," a voice said tightly. "Now, would you care to explain yourselves?"

Okay, not exactly a welcoming party. Mr. Finn was a bit thickheaded. I don't think he understood a word of what we had told him. He kept on calling me Buffy, for one. And it's not very nice when people keep on mistaking you for your long-since-dead mother. Not just mistaking. Insisting.

So I very kindly explained that no, I wasn't Buffy Anne Summers, but in fact her daughter. He didn't seem to understand that, and kept asking why Spike was with me. So I explained very slowly, taking care to enunciate correctly, that Spike was my father. He didn't get that, either. Insisted I was lying and asked the same questions over and over again.

This was the leader of a secret government organization? Doesn't exactly say much for our government.

I don't think Mr. Finn ever really got what I was trying to tell him, so he just started talking about a certain guy named Rayne who had escaped, and who the Initiative was currently tracking. And whom they needed the Slayer's help to locate and catch. And he kept on insisting that I was Buffy and that I was the Slayer.

At least he got half of it right. But you know what? I had gotten about an hour of sleep. And it was really, really early in the morning, so early it was actually very late on Tuesday night. And I didn't like how Mr. Finn kept on staring at me, not even paying Dad the slightest iota of attention.

And then he said something that he really shouldn't have said. But you know what? If I could do it over, I probably wouldn't have held back.

__

Getting a little creeped out by his stare, I looked for an exit.

"Uh, we really have to go, Mr. Finn. I've got school in a few hours."

Mr. Finn's gaze bored through me, a tinge of desperation in his eyes. "Buffy, please. Why are you doing this? Are you still mad I married Sam? We divorced years ago."

"Really. I have to go. Right, Dad?"

And then he had suddenly grabbed my arm, pointing at my father, who was glaring right back, his eyes a curious mix of blue and gold.

"Are you still sleeping with that-that—"

Okay, so I might have overreacted a little. I've withstood Mr. Finn's maniacal staring already. But accusations of incest? Not nice.

Mr. Finn didn't know what had hit him. But suddenly, he was pinned to the wall by his neck, about 6 inches off the ground, even though he was more than a foot taller than me.

"Say that again," I said calmly.

Mr. Finn was turning purple, with both rage and a slight lack of oxygen.

I heard a dry chuckle from behind.

"Now, now, pet. Don't want to overdo it. A little bit of scare is alright, but we don't want to permanently damage Soldier-boy. 

I let go, gave Mr. Finn a polite smile.

"Have a nice day."

I'm still a little surprised that he let us go without any further questions. But it still _was_ rude to make us walk all the way home. I think I fell asleep somewhere along the way. When I woke up, I was snuggled under the covers and Dad was just finishing tucking me in. Just like old times.

Now to sleep.


	34. September 27, 2019

September 27, 2019—Lunch

Not much happening, in the way of demonic activity or escaped convicts. The troops are still here, and Sunnydale is still under military rule, technically speaking.

I haven't seen Mr. Finn since.

Anyway, major developments on the social front. Jamie has all but assured me that JB reciprocates my feelings for him. 

Have I mentioned I love his hair? Right now it's a dark shade of green, no longer blue. The only downside is that it occasionally gets gelled to stay straight up, and then I get a strange urge to smash it down with a shovel.

Right. Which reminds me, Uncle Angel is supposed to come over this weekend. Or actually, Aunt Dawn's getting a little "restless" and needs to see her honey. So now there'll be even more people staying at our house.

It's like a melee of people who don't really get along, all stuck in one small place. Uncle Giles has basically taken over the kitchen and stuffed the cupboards full of his funny-smelling tea bags. He doesn't like to venture out, because then he ends up endlessly cleaning his glasses, the way he always does when he's around Aunt Anya. Aunt Anya wanders around saying disgusting things and keeps trying to break into the basement. And I'm pretty sure she destroyed two of my stuffed bunnies. Aunt Dawn just tries to ignore Aunt Anya and spends all her time on the phone, racking up the long-distance bill to LA. Dad's locked himself up in the basement and only comes out to patrol, when Aunt Anya isn't around. And I've pretty much given up eating anything long and thin—or worse, thick—in front of her. No pickles or breadsticks. Or even french fries, at times. Note to self: don't be seen with a stake. And a sharp piece of wood is _not_ a sex toy, despite what you might use it for, Aunt Anya.

Now I can just imagine Uncle Angel here. He'll bring all his friends, which are sort of my "extended family," really. I think Aunt Fred and Uncle Gunn, being the smart ones, will probably stay at Aunt Willow's house. She's good friends with Aunt Fred, after all. But that means I'll have to share my bathroom with Aunt Cordy. Now, I completely worship and adore Aunt Cordy in all categories of makeup and fashion, but seriously, she takes about three hours to get ready every day. And with Uncle Angel around, there's just no end to the fun. Let's not even go there…as long as I don't wake up one day to find two piles of dust, everything's just peachy keen. 'Cause you know, then I'd have to vacuum.

I really hope Connor doesn't stay with Aunt Dawn. Don't think I'd get any sleep. Maybe I should just join Dad in the basement…


	35. September 28, 2019 Part 1

September 28, 2019—Barely Dawn

The sun still isn't up yet. So why am _I_ up, helping Aunt Dawn make pancakes—with no peanut butter, thank you very much—at such an ungodly hour?

Angel Investigations is here.

My first clue was the black convertible that screeched to a noisy stop. My second was the sudden, loud cursing from the basement as the car outside "accidentally" ran over part of the lawn. My third clue was hearing Uncle Angel respond in kind, then ring the very loud doorbell very loudly.

Then, while stumbling downstairs, still half-asleep, I saw Aunt Anya get to the door first and chuck the mutilated remains of one of my MIA stuffed bunnies at Uncle Angel. Ha, I knew it was her!

Anyway, thus began my lovely Saturday morning. 

The biggest question my sleep-addled brain can come up with now is, why would a vampire drive a convertible?

Aunt Dawn destroyed the microwave last night with more failed peanut butter experiments. I hope certain people who are currently fighting over where the convertible goes (Sunnydale dump or the lawn?) like their nasty blood cold and clotting. 


	36. September 28, 2019 Part 2

A/N: Sorry, no updates tomorrow; check Wednesday. And here's more fluff.

September 28, 2019—Morning

Okay, finally woke up completely. Turns out Uncle Angel was supposed to get here later _tomorrow_. But then Aunt Cordy had a…vision?…and there was supposed to be trouble.

Turns out, the LA branch of my family isn't as normal as I'd thought. Aunt Cordy's half-demon, for one. And she gets visions, warnings of the future. Sorta like my dreams, only more direct and a hell of a lot less confusing.

And Connor? Well, he spent his childhood in a hell dimension. After Uncle Wesley kidnapped him because he translated a fake prophecy about how Uncle Angel was gonna kill him. And let's not even go into his conception: Darla, resurrected as a human after being staked by Uncle Angel, was vamped by Drusilla, had sex with my ever-broody uncle, and then dusted herself to save the baby. 

Right…

Anyway, Aunt Cordy said she saw a really dark and cold place, not like she was observing it, but more like she was the person there, looking at everything from someone else's perspective. Strangest of all, Aunt Cordy said that she didn't feel any fear in her vision, just a lot of confusion.

That makes basically no sense. Uncle Rupert just went over to Aunt Willow's house to help with the research. I think Aunt Dawn was supposed to join them, but she's disappeared with Connor.

I don't even want to know where they are. And I don't think anyone else wants to know, aside from Aunt Anya.

I feel kinda sorry for Aunt Dawn and Connor. Every time they're together in public, Dad and Uncle Angel start bickering and try to get them apart. I think they both have some serious possessiveness issues.

Ooh, loud cursing from downstairs. And it doesn't sound like Dad…

__

I ran down the steps, taking them three and four at a time. You know, hurrying because I thought there might've been some kind of emergency. And because I smelled something burning.

Imagine my surprise as I saw the blood-spattered kitchen wall and two very loud people, one rolling on the ground, laughing, and the other jumping around grabbing his hand and spewing obscenities.

"Ahem."

Uncle Angel stopped yelling and instead got all sulky and brooding. Dad tried to stop laughing, several times in fact, but that didn't really work out.

"What's going on?"

Uncle Angel, ever the repentant one, answered. "It's all his fault."

I rolled my eyes. "Right. What happened? What's with all the…the blood on the walls and the yelling and laughing?"

Meanwhile, Dad had been quieting down. But as I mentioned the bloody walls, he cracked up again. I'm placing my money on five minutes before he sobers up.

Uncle Angel gave Dad a glare. Then looked in the direction of the closet two feet away. 

A closet where I had stashed several large crucifixes a few weeks ago, just after finding out the whole Slayer business. Before learning about all the little strange nuances of this family. Not that I know all of them even now.

Anyway, I swear_ I was going to remove them. _

"Sorry," I said sheepishly. "I…uh, forgot?"

Now Uncle Angel's famous broody glare was directed at me. "You_ put them there?"_

I smiled nervously. "Um…yes? But that was before I figured out the whole vampire thing. I just…forgot to take them down."

Uncle Angel gave a forgiving grunt. "Alright, Angie. Just this once." He gave Dad another glare, which sent him into further bouts of laughter. I so_ did not want to know exactly what had gone on down here._

"Well, see you guys later. Dad, behave. And please clean up your mess before lunchtime." I gestured towards the walls.

"Hey," Dad protested. "I'm not the poofter that spilled that everywhere. Make Peaches do it."

I sighed. Were all vampires this childish? "Uncle Angel's a guest here, in case you forgot."

"So? I'm not the one on a mission of redemption here. 'Help the bloody hopeless.'"

"Hey!"

"C'mon. Just…just figure something out."

"Yeah," Uncle Angel agreed with a slight smirk. Very disturbing. 

Facts of life that I've learned since birth: #1. Close curtains on windows with eastern exposure in the morning. #2. Uncle Angel has two facial expressions. If he smirks or wears leather pants, call Aunt Willow immediately.

"Now that you're all soul-having, William_, shouldn't you be a little more considerate about how you treat your guests?"_

I think he knew something was wrong the moment he said it.

"What?" I demanded. "Soul? What soul?"

"Uh…" Uncle Angel looked extremely uncomfortable and slightly shifty. "So I take it you haven't told her?" he asked Dad.

"This isn't possible," I babbled. "I mean, people of the non-human variety that have souls are all broody and-and…lame! Dad, you're neither mentally challenged…much…nor wear excessive amounts of hair gel. And you don't brood all day or prance around like Uncle An—uh, right." I shot a glance at Uncle Angel, who somehow managed to glower and brood at the same time. "And why didn't you tell me?"

Well, I have to admit, some things made more sense now. The whole not-killing-people thing, for one.

"I was getting around to it," Dad said sheepishly. "But…well—"

"Does this mean you're going to brood all day?"

Interesting little episode, there. So, soul equals good, right? 

Just the same, I better make sure we don't have any hair gel hidden around the house.


	37. September 28, 2019 Part 3

September 28, 2019—Noon

__

A tight box. Satin lid. Damp, heavy.

No air.

Fingers scraping on the lid, trying to get out. Out of the box!

Dirt. A stream of dirt falling everywhere, spraying everywhere.

Pushing hard, pushing through the hole where the dirt streamed in. Dirt in mouth, in ears, in eyes. Everywhere.

Can't breath.

Reaching up, up, up. Through packed dirt.

Air! Cold and musty. Almost through. One last shove.

There! 

Breaking free, pushing out of the hole, away from the dirt.

Hazy, everything was hazy. It was dark. But there were things in the darkness that were bright.

Squinting, drawing in breath.

Heart skipping a beat.

Tombstones.

I'd dozed off for a bit. Had a not very nice dream about clawing my way out of a coffin. But that was it, right? Just a dream.

Better be. I'm claustrophobic.

Which reminds me, or rather doesn't remind me, but Aunt Cordy and Aunt Anya went shopping together. Which doesn't exactly spell out kittens and puppies. Last time they went out together, Aunt Cordy brought back a mysterious bag of purchases and ended up chasing Uncle Angel around with some sort of device made of leather. I hope to God that it had been a torture device.

Anyway, Jamie just called. She asked if I could go with her to the Bronze tonight. And since I have absolutely no social life at all and no one here seems to understand the importance of participating in social gatherings with peers because the ones that do are either screwing their boyfriends or out shopping. Certain people who are currently fighting over the remote need to learn that people don't necessarily get drunk and thrown out of clubs—and the Bronze is NOT a pub, thank you very much—or have emotional breakdowns stemming from an overdose of cheesy poetry at social gatherings. 

Jeez. Just because I'm related to people who've had bad social lives doesn't mean I can't be allowed to try anything out. 

See, I'm not officially allowed to date till well into the next century. No kissing of boys. Why? Because of something Aunt Dawn did a long time ago, of course. And don't even _think_ about the subject of sex in my house, unless you're Aunt Anya, of course. Everyone seems to look the other way when she starts talking. 

I still remember the "birds and bees" speech I got when I turned 12. By then I pretty much knew the gist of it from Aunt Anya and my friends, but Aunt Dawn still felt it needed to be officially explained to me, against the protests of other members of the family. But it wasn't like _she_ was willing to do it, of course. Aunt Willow had been out of town, in England, I think. And Aunt Faith had just laughed when Dad pleaded and begged. Asked if she could listen in.

Let's just say that had been the most embarrassing incident of my whole entire life and leave it there.

Anyway, way to get off track. It's lunchtime, and Aunt Dawn still hasn't showed up. Neither has Aunt Cordy or Aunt Anya. 

So I guess Pizza Hut it is.

This is _so_ boring. It's Saturday, and I'm not allowed to go anywhere. 

__

Ding-DONG!

I hope somebody else goes to get it.

Ding-DONG!

Pause.

Ding-DONG!

"Hey, doorbell! Someone get it!" I yelled.

"It's bleeding daylight out! Peaches, let go of it! I don't want to watch chits in spandex prancing around."

Ding-DONG!

Urgh. I sighed, rolled off the bed and stretched. Jogged downstairs.

Ding-DONG!

"Coming, coming!" I yelled.

Swung the door open.

My mouth dropped into a little "o." I stepped back slightly, away from the door, crossed my arms, raised an eyebrow.

"Can I help you?"

"Um…yeah. Angela, right? I'm really sorry about the other night," the man babbled. "I checked with the Sunnydale High records, found that you really were_ Angela Sum—"_

"Hey, wait a minute. You_ checked _my_ records?" My voice took on a slightly threatening tone and Mr. Finn stepped back nervously._

"Uh…yes? I mean, yes, I did. I mean, where's Buffy?"

I groaned, fought down an urge to bang my head against the wall. And to punch him really hard in the face. Was this guy seriously challenged or what?

"Angie, who's out there?" 

I groaned. Great time to introduce Uncle Angel to the psychotic commando.

"No one," I replied.

Mr. Finn frowned. "That sounded like…no way. Is Angel here?"

That got him my full attention. And also captured the attentions of the two vampires fighting between watching soap operas and a live version of Swan Lake ballet that was being broadcast on public television.

I swear, don't those two know they have a reputation to hold up?

The tingles going up and down my spine increased in intensity. Mr. Finn straightened and narrowed his eyes, staring behind me and to the right.

"Well, well. Captain Cardboard's back."

Uncle Angel merely growled.

And I saw Mr. Finn's hand sneak toward his holster.

Alert the troops. Testosterone poisoning.

Okay, crises put temporarily on hold. After tying up three struggling and cursing guys about 3-17 times older than me and dumping said people in opposite corners of the living room, I speed-dialed Aunt Willow's house and called the cell phone Aunt Cordy always has on hand. Told them of the little face-off, asked if they could get over here.

Aunt Anya, who I could hear in the background of Aunt Cordy's cell, seemed very excited and eager to try out a few new tricks she's learned in Malaysia.


	38. September 28, 2019 Part 4

September 28, 2019—Dinnertime

Oodles of fun. 

By the time I had finished calling for help, the three stooges back in the living room had started baiting each other and using all kinds of language. Amazing what strange little pieces of trivia one cold learn from a bit of eavesdropping. 

1. Uncle Angel liked nuns very, very much. But of course I already knew that, if I correctly recall a few childhood stories.

2. Mr. Finn was from Iowa. And he enjoyed corn and livestock in various ways.

3. Dad's vampiric family did in fact have incestuous relationships. And not always in a heterosexual way.

4. Mr. Finn had a brother named Adam.

5. Uncle Angel had some non-proportionally small body parts.

6. Mr. Finn did a lot of drugs.

7. Dad used to steal Mom's underwear.

8. Mr. Finn enjoyed frequenting undead houses of prostitution.

All of which led to one underlying fact:

9. Mom sure got around a lot in her day.

It was an interesting pattern, how the insults went back and forth. But as interesting as it was, I was glad when Aunt Willow arrived with Uncle Xander. Jesse, on the other hand, was at the Bronze. Having fun.

Grr. Argh.

Anyway, she was a little surprised. And Uncle Xander actually seemed somewhat glad to see Mr. Finn. They started talking like old buddies. And Aunt Willow didn't seem to mind him that much, either. And here I had thought he had been a bad guy or something, an old arch-nemesis, seeing how Dad had reacted to him.

So maybe I shouldn't have beat up the guy.

Nah.

__

"So, why are they tied up?" Aunt Willow asked, after exchanging greetings with Mr. Finn. We were in the kitchen, eating lukewarm slices of pizza.

I rolled my eyes. "You should've been here half an hour ago. Testosterone poisoning."

"Ah," Uncle Xander said, nodding, as if it was the most obvious thing. 

Aunt Willow and I both gave him a quizzical look.

"Think about it. 2019 reunion of Boyfriends of Buffy Anonymous. Wills, we should have brought popcorn and drinks. This is gonna be way better than WWF or anything on Pay-Per-View."

"Not funny. What do we do with them?" I demanded, employing a fail-proof pout.

"Woah, woah, woah! Hold on a sec, there. Not we_, _you_. Your house, your problem."_

Maybe not fail-proof after all.

I turned puppy-dog eyes upon Aunt Willow. "Could you do something? Please? With magic?"

Aunt Willow got a rather pained expression on her face as the yelling and cursing escalated in the background. "Well—"

Ding-DONG!

The doorbell rang once, then the door opened and Aunt Anya came in with Aunt Cordy, both lugging bulging shopping bags. They walked right past the room of doom and into the kitchen.

"So!" Aunt Cordy chirped. "What did we miss?"

"The three loud males in the process of breaking loose from their bonds and killing each other," Aunt Anya stated calmly. "Angie, you know better than to use rope. Chains are always best. Even better when the subject you wish to enchain is stripped—"

"That's probably enough on that subject," Aunt Willow said quickly. 

Aunt Anya licked her lips and glanced in the direction of the living room. "So, what did they do? And why's Riley here?" She shrugged and smiled. "Not that I'm complaining. If you would like to wish vengeance upon them, I'm perfectly willing to comply. Or better yet, why don't I go for a more private session—"

"Anya!" Uncle Xander said loudly. "Um, minors within hearing range?" He gazed pointedly at me. And of course, my whole face was aflame. A whole onslaught of icky images and ideas flew through my head at shocking speed.

While I was busy recovering, Aunt Willow had explained the situation to the new arrivals.

And Aunt Anya seemed to have a very simple solution.

"One, two, three of them. One, two, three of us fully grown and thus legal women. Girls, let's each grab a room and a man and go for it. Of course, Xander, you're perfectly welcome to join in. Just because we're finished doesn't mean I don't occasionally crave your engorged—"

"Ahem," Aunt Willow said, giving her the evil eye. She jerked one of Uncle Xander's arms around her waist. "This is nuts. I'm married and so's Cordelia. I'm not having sex with—"

"Oh, that's all right," Aunt Anya said, waving her hand dismissively. "You don't have to help." She gave me a wink. "Which one do you want, sweetie?"

Feeling rather nauseous, I made a quick retreat to the bathroom.

That had been about 5 hours ago. Right now, Mr. Finn had been at last persuaded to leave (with persuasion on the part of Uncle Xander and Aunt Willow, who he seemed to get along with). Then Uncle Angel had been banished to Aunt Willow's house, with a little persuasion on the part of Aunt Cordy.

Without all the other bad influences around, Dad calmed down too, at least enough for me to untie him. And I think having Aunt Anya leering at him the whole time helped, too.

Now, there was the question of dinner. Leftover pizza? 


	39. September 28, 2019 Part 5

A/N: Interspersed with a little reality in dreams. 

Disclaimers: I feel like a disclaimer's coming up, despite the fact that being fanfiction, disclaimers are basically implied. I obviously don't own UPN, or_ Star Trek: Voyager_ and The Black Bird. Ditto for the lyrics taken from "Smile," property of Ghost of the Robot. 

September 28, 2019—Night

After dinner, Aunt Willow called. Apparently the reason Mr. Finn was even here in the first place was because of this guy, Ethan Rayne. Who Aunt Willow said was an old friend of Uncle Rupert's. And the last anyone had seen of him was approximately 20 years ago, when the Initiative locked him up in some secret prison base after he turned Uncle Rupert into a Fyarl demon, albeit temporarily.

What a nice guy. Anyway, the Initiative apparently needs help to find this man. And he's probably causing mayhem in Sunnydale even as I write. Rayne was into sorcery and magic.

Anyway, Aunt Willow said that we have to look out for the guy. And actually _help_ Mr. Finn.

That might be a little difficult. But she said that Rayne is a common enemy and worth teaming up to overcome. But if we have to work together, I don't think Dad should go patrolling with me anymore.

And what's up with the hostility between Mr. Finn and Uncle Angel? I didn't even know they had ever met. I think Aunt Cordy might've followed Aunt Anya's advice, because Aunt Willow said that they were behind locked doors and didn't sound like they were coming out any time soon. Whatever. 

There's some sort of _Passions_ rerun on TV Land. So Dad's zoned out on the couch, with hot chocolate and little marshmallows. I would join him, but soaps really aren't my thing. And Aunt Dawn called an hour ago, sounding rather breathless. She and Connor are running late and might not be back for a while. I _so_ do not want to know what they were so busy doing. Aunt Anya went to the Bronze a little while ago, to "get a little work done." As long as I don't wake up in a world with no shrimp or something, that's all right, I guess.

Amazingly, I feel really sleepy. And it's barely 8…

__

The hallway again. But not the Initiative. And no songs this time, either. I hoped it would stay that way.

I walked down the hallway, because that was clearly the only option. My footsteps echoed loudly. Staring down, I realized I was wearing black boots with heels so high Dad would likely kill me for even trying them on. And yet I wasn't tripping around like a klutz the way I always do when I wear heels.

There was a light at the end of the hallway. A light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.

"Run and catch…"

Great, a cheery little catch-tune.

"Run and catch…"

And it was getting closer. I recognized this voice.

  
"The lamb is caught…"

I spun around rapidly, seeing her standing in all her ghostly splendor, still clutching Miss Edith.

"In the blackberry patch…"

How she had escaped my detection, I didn't know. But then again, this was a dream, wasn't it? Not exactly real. Not exactly logical.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. Not that I minded. Drusilla was a much better alternative than some of the things I dreamt about.

She gave me a wide smile, her eyes lighting up in a way that was not entirely sane.

"Little girl, sweet honey and cakes." She raised an arm and touched cold fingers to my cheek. I shivered involuntarily, closing my eyes for but a moment. When they opened again, I was no longer in a hallway.

No, this was someplace dark. A cave, perhaps? Or basement, even. Dungeons? No clue.

There he was, that old man I had seen before, in another dream. He had just come out of a bolted door. He was locking it with a ring of keys. What was on the other side?

I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"The lamb is caught," Drusilla whispered right by my ear. I jumped. "The lamb is caught, the lamb is caught," she sang over and over again, giggling all the while. "The lamb is caught…"

I grabbed her arm, just to stop her from singing that dreadful tune. 

Cold flesh. I jerked back. And the scene changed yet again.

Aunt Faith. She was sitting on a park bench, surrounded by white. Just a park bench out of the blue. But when I studied her carefully, I could see that she was translucent! Almost opaque, but I could see the outline of the bench behind her. And she was talking to someone. I couldn't hear what she said or see whom she was addressing.

No, no, I could. But it was just a faint outline, almost transparent, with only the barest trace of color. In the outline of a person. And the color was fading all the while.

My vampire guide appeared quite suddenly by my side.

"Catch the lamb, catch the wee little lamb," Drusilla said seriously. "But the lamb is caught, and soon will disappear into the trap. Having escaped at last, the lamb does not wish to go back."

"What?"

She laughed, a high, chilling laugh. This time she was the one that grabbed me. Cold, harsh flesh locked around my wrist.

And suddenly I was in the living room. My_ living room. The TV on, but it sure wasn't a show about Timmy falling down the well. No, it was the end credits for a show called _Star Trek: Voyager_. Maybe I'll ask Uncle Xander about it later. And as I searched for the significance of this particular scene, one of those commercials they have for other shows on the same channel came up. _

"Don't miss next week's Buffy the Vampire Slayer_! The Slayer investigates a series of grisly murder in Sunnydale. Could they be the work of Spike? Meanwhile, Dawn recovers from a chaotic night."_

As the voice droned on in an overly dramatic tone, a series of images flew across screen. 

The living room, utterly devastated. A young girl, maybe my age, sitting in the middle of the wreck. Long brown hair, pale face, hugging a cushion. Very familiar…

Just a flash of Mom's face, the lines harsher than I remembered. But makeup and accessories as perfect as was possible…

Dad, his hair bleached, standing on a doorstep with a girl, burying his face in her neck. That was no hickey.

What the hell was going on?

"Tune in Tuesdays at 8 PM Eastern/Pacific, on UPN. And now, The Black Bird—"

Click. The TV went blank.

I turned to my left. Drusilla, of course, remote still in hand. Miss Edith nowhere to be seen.

"What was that?" I asked.

She smiled mischievously and shook a finger.

"Tsk, tsk. It's not Tuesday, sweet little lamb. Can't watch the telly until it's Tuesday, silly sweet girl."

She said this with a perfectly straight face.

"Huh? First of all, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. And I'd just like to point out that I very rarely actually have time to watch TV, and certainly not on Tuesdays. That's like, the busiest day of the week."

She laughed at me, like I was being silly or something. 

"Wake up, my lamb."

And wake up I did. Very eerie dream. The part with Rayne and Aunt Faith I can almost count as part of a "normal" Slayer dream. But the thing with the TV? Seriously weird. And I think UPN is a real channel, too. I've heard of it somewhere. Maybe I'll try to find the website for it sometime. Check out what's on Tuesdays at 8.

And now there's a song stuck in my head, fading fast. Which is really funny, 'cause I've never heard it before in my entire life. Not even from a dream.

Part of the refrain's all I can still remember. Let me write it down before I forget completely.

__

She just looks at me  
And smiles  
Smiles  
Smiles 

Interesting. At least nothing about lambs or blackberries or maids or valleys and sunshine. A completely ordinary song.

But the voice singing it…that's the most disturbing part. Oddly familiar, yet I have never heard anything like it.


	40. September 29, 2019 Part 1

A/N: This will notbecome one of those fics where the characters can access real time or vice versa. It was just a dream sequence, thought I'd throw that in. Maybe other little allusions to the real world will occur in the future, but these will have nothing to do with the plot. They're just alternate realities that dreams can sometimes bridge the gap between. 

September 29, 2019—Noon

There's absolutely no trace of Ethan Rayne in this town. Nothing that Aunt Willow could find, at least. And she's pretty powerful with the spells.

Uncle Rupert said that just because we had no solid proof of Rayne being here at all was no excuse to lower our guards. He said Rayne like to play games and generally cause a lot of havoc. Nothing wrong with that, unless it interfered with public safety concerns. Or if the guy causing it was someone Uncle Rupert thought was bad news.

I told Aunt Willow and Uncle Rupert about the messed-up dream I had last night. They couldn't really come up with an explanation. Said that most likely it was some sort of metaphor in my head. As for the TV thing, that was just a figment of my imagination. A normal dream.

Anyway, Uncle Angel decided to move into a hotel, 'cause I don't think he got along with Uncle Xander all that much, either. And Aunt Dawn? She showed up this morning, sleepy and disheveled, but very, very happy. Tried to sneak in upstairs, actually. But Dad smelled her coming a mile away and threatened to tear Connor apart and crush his bones, not to mention ground Aunt Dawn for the rest of her life. But she's a little old to get grounded.

I don't want to know what it was he smelled that got him all agitated.

__

Anyway…

Mr. Wells came up today. He just got back from some Trekkie retreat or something. He's a neighbor and a sort-of friend. By "sort-of", I mean that no one I know can stand him, but sometimes he comes around anyway. He brought chocolate chip cookies that rivaled Aunt Willow's. And he brought over his collection of mint-condition _Superman_ comics.

Nice guy, if a little annoying at times. But when he started a conversation about the best _Star Trek_ episode, I suggested he go visit Uncle Xander.

Mmm. Cookie, good.

The good news is, I can go to the Bronze with Jesse in a little while. The bad news is, I have to finish my homework first. I have a paper in English, but that can wait. I just gotta finish my French homework. Stupid reflexive pronouns.

Count on Mlle Madison to give us so much work to do on a weekend. She's a real witch at times.


	41. September 29, 2019 Part 2

September 29, 2019—Later

Homework, finished, at last. Time to go Bronzing.

I want to drive there. Can't wait to turn 16.

__

"Ahhhh!"

The front of the DeSoto swung to the left. I heard horns and shouts from the outside. Couldn't really see anything through the windshield, though.

Dad cracked open his window and yelled back at the other motorists, then stepped on the gas and zoomed through the streets. Jesse's house on the right. 

"Right, right, right! Stop!" I yelled.

Screech! BAM! Crunch.

The car jerked to a halt. Dad grinned from the driver's seat. I hoped we only crushed a trashcan and nothing too important.

"Wait here. Stay. I have to get Jesse."

And also had to get out of that deathtrap he called a car. Stand on solid ground again.

I winced, staring at the flattened mailbox. Uncle Xander wasn't gonna be happy about that.

"Jesse! Get your butt down here!" I yelled toward the open window on the second story. A minute later the door opened and the lanky teen stumbled out. 

"Thanks for getting me out," he called out, jogging across the dewy lawn. "Mr. Wells just spilled Uncle Rupert's tea on the carpet. At least the comics were safe."

I rolled my eyes and decided not to comment on the geekiness of Superman_ comics._

"So, why're you so keen on going to the Bronze?" he asked casually, slipping into the back seat. "That kid JB, is he gonna be there or something?" I could almost see his smirk.

A low growl. "And who's this 'JB,' exactly?"

"Uh," I said eloquently, shooting Jesse a death glare. "No one? I mean, he-he's in a band," I fibbed quickly. "A band that plays at the Bronze, on occasion. And they have really good music. Which I like to listen to. Yeah."

Not exactly a lie. I could be a groupie.

"Right, ducks." Dad snorted and turned back to the wheel. "Buckle up, kiddies."

We tore into the street, narrowly avoiding oncoming traffic.

"Ahhhh!" I yelled as we careened wildly, horns blasting at us from all directions.

"Ahhhh!" Jesse agreed.

"Quit your yammering," Dad grumped. "I'd like to see how you two drive."

A pause.

"Actually, no I don't."

Isn't it great when parents show their support and confidence in their children's abilities?

"So, how's school?" Dad finally asked after a long pause, glancing in the rearview mirror.

I could feel Jesse squirm uncomfortably from the back seat.

"Um, just fine, Uncle William."

Another disgusted snort. "It's Spike_, Whelp Jr."_

I gave Jesse a small smile. "Sorry," I mouthed silently. 

There was a legitimate reason why I didn't usually have Dad driving my friends around. He had the whole "embarrassing the hell outta your child" routine down pat.

"Been in trouble recently?" 

I groaned inwardly. What kind of questions were these?

"No, Uncle Will—Spike. Uncle Spike. No trouble."

Dad chuckled, veering a sudden left. Jesse and I both banged against the right side of the car.

"Glad to hear that you've gotten some of Red's genes as well as Harris's. As long as you aren't half the wanker he is, you'll be all right." Dad slammed on the brakes. "Here you go, kiddies. Have a good time. See you in two hours, same place."

As we blinked up at the blinding sunshine outside the Bronze, Jesse turned to me, looking rather confused. "Did your dad just pay me a compliment?"

I gave him a slight smile. "Yeah."

"Ah, I see."

We hadn't even stepped through the door when Jamie ambushed me from the side.

"Angie! Finally! JB's been waiting for over half an hour for you to show. He must really like you."

"Wh-what? What are you talking about?" I stammered, the blush rising in my cheeks as she began to drag me into the club. My confusion only rose as Jesse grabbed my other arm and helped her. And why didn't Slayer strength work when I needed it to? Like, right now? Somehow I just couldn't break loose.

My mouth dropped open as I was dragged to a small table in the back. There was JB, looking a little nervous, his hair a bright, fiery red. He gave a tiny smile and a slight wave.

"Hey."

"Hi." I turned and glared at my two friends. "You two planned this, didn't you? You are so _gonna—"_

"Actually, it was sorta my idea."

I whirled around and stared, slack-jawed. First of all, because JB had spoken a complete sentence. Unheard of. And secondly, because this had been his_ idea. _

"Why…"

"I like you." Ooh, so direct and to the point. Such a steady expression. Sweet eyes behind a pair of cute little glasses. Bright, bold hair against pale skin, the barest outline of freckles sprinkled across his cheeks…

"I-I kinda sorta like you too." And I was just all babble and nerves.

He smiled, wider than I'd ever seen before.


	42. September 29, 2019 Part 3

September 29, 2019—Even Later

__

He smiled, wider than I'd ever seen before.

Here endth the tale. Yeah right.

__

"Um, do you want something to drink?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No, that's okay. As in, it's okay not to get me a drink, 'cause I'm just fine without it. Not that drinks are evil or bad or anything…" I trailed off, having lost even myself through the demented path of logic my speech had taken.

We sat in uncomfortable silence. What was wrong with me? This was what I'd wanted since…well, ever since I'd first seen JB. And now, I was all frozen up and nonsense-babbling. Perfect.

"So, how are you?" I blurted out. "How's your band and…everything?"

He smiled almost imperceptibly. Very stoic. "Good. Everything's good."

"Well, that's great. That everything's…good."

"You?"

The way his eyes gazed at me made me feel like he could see everything. See beneath the surface, into my very soul. Electric.

"I-I'm fine. Have to find Jesse and Jamie and mutilate them in horrible ways, but aside from that, I'm just peachy. And I'm talking too much again. Sorry…"

He cut off my babbling by scooching to sit closer.

"No, it's sweet. The babbling. You're sweet."

I blushed again. Damn those teenage hormones running rampant…

"You have such pretty eyes…"

And now JB was leaning in. My eyelids fluttered closed as I inclined my head to meet his lips…

I felt the tingle almost the same moment as I heard the growl.

Uh-oh.

I jumped away from the table, putting as much distance between the growling parental figure stalking this way in a black leather duster and the guy I had almost kissed as possible.

"H-hi Dad," I squeaked. 

"Well, well, what's this?" Yikes. Seemingly calm voice. Eyes shifting momentarily to gold. Threatening posture, looking at JB like he was a bag of blood from the Red Cross.

Dad was pissed.

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out but another little squeak. Shot JB a look of sheer panic and hoped he would take the hint and run.

"Hi." And apparently JB had no common sense whatsoever. He stood up and walked around the table. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Summers." And he stuck out a hand. Soon to be a mangled stub.

Dad actually chuckled. But not in a ha-ha way. More like a you-idiot-I-am–about-to-turn-you-into-dog-chow-and-can't-believe-you're-still-oblivious way. And reached out for JB's outstretched hand…

Quick, must do something before the floor of the Bronze is splattered with blood and I'm kicked out of the club forever.

"Uh, you know, I really have to go. I'll see you—"

Another louder growl.

"—maybe," I finished meekly. "Bye!" I jerked Dad's arm away, hard. It moved maybe an inch. His eyes were burning a hole through JB's jugular.

"Bye, Angie. See you." And he was still oblivious.

"Dad, let's go. Hello?" I jerked his arm again, this time with all my strength. He slowly looked down, flecks of gold still visible.

"Right, then." Shot JB's retreating form another glare, carefully sniffed the air. Satisfied, he gave a short nod. Thank goodness we hadn't kissed.

"Things've come up. Rupert told me to get you."

He spun around and stalked towards the exit. Which was when I noticed Jesse standing not too far away, looking sheepish. I narrowed my eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I was_ trying to keep your dad away."_

He seemed sincere. So I settled for silent stewing as we walked quickly out of the club.

Major disaster. Not just with the whole Bronze incident. I'm grounded, as is expected. Then I got the whole "I'm not mad, just disappointed" speech that everyone's parents give on occasion, only this was more of a "I'm furious and will rip out the arms of that boy should he come near you again…and disappointed as well" speech. And by the way, I _so_ did not sneak out to be with my not-boyfriend behind Dad's back. Because, hello, I didn't even know he was gonna be there. But does anyone ever listen?

Boy, am I glad that JB hadn't kissed me. If that had happened, I don't think the cops would've been able to find either his or my body for weeks.

Anyway, the bad news that caused Uncle Rupert to make Dad drive back and get me and Jesse was Aunt Faith.

Who was also, apparently, a Slayer. Hmm, care to mention this before, anyone?

Guess not. 

Well, it wasn't like I told them about her being vamped, either. Bad Angie.

So anyway, Aunt Faith showed up. And Uncle Xander accidentally invited her in. Honestly, for a group that supposedly dealt with all this supernatural stuff for more than two decades…

__

Anyway, she didn't hurt anyone. Just grabbed the old books Uncle Rupert brought with him and ran off again. The same books Uncle Rupert and Aunt Willow were using to track down Ethan Rayne.

A little too coincidental. Maybe they're working together. That could be, right? At least Aunt Willow did the de-invite spell on her house. That way Aunt Faith can't get inside until Uncle Xander invites her in again. And then Aunt Willow called Mr. Finn at the Initiative and alerted him about the situation. Load of help _he_'ll be.

Anyway, not in a very good mood. Decidedly mortified and embarrassed and wanting to crawl under the carpet every time Dad's around, yet also kinda mad. Hey, I _did_ get cheated outta a kiss. Plus that whole Aunt Faith deal has me pissed off. They never tell me anything unless I need to know or find out by myself.

Right now, what I want most is to be with JB, finishing off our "date." But _no_, Angie has to be a good little Slayer and go look for homicidal vamps wearing dead relatives' faces that might or might not be working with wacko old British men. And little Angie has to be a good little girl and grow up to be a nun. 


	43. October 1, 2019 Part 1

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. I think I should clarify a few things: first of all, anything that happened in the "real" BtVS universe happened here. Well, up till before the last 5 episodes of S7, at least. Secondly, JB was adopted. From somewhere in Tibet. And no one knows who his "real" parents were. More on that later. And third of all, Spike does have a part-time job, teaching at UC Sunnydale. More on that can be found in "My Mommy and Daddy," chapter 12. And does he write stories? Hmm…

October 1, 2019—Morning (Or, _le matin_, as Mlle Madison is trying to get us to use.) 

__

Drip.

Drip.

Cold and dark.

I was sitting on a cold stone floor, arms wrapped around my knees. Cold, cold arms.

Somewhere far away, I heard something creak. Some part of me acknowledged that it was a door opening. I felt a certain anticipation, almost eagerness.

And barely contained violence.

I clenched my hands into fists and realized there were shackles around the wrists. I was a prisoner here, wherever here_ was. A prisoner, and I wasn't very happy about it, whomever I happened to be._

Footsteps echoing on the stone floor. That…eagerness…again. Muscles I didn't realize my arm possessed began to ripple in preparation. And I felt coiled strength flow through my veins. Strength I wasn't sure that even the Slayer possessed. And all this strength was focusing, preparing. For what?

Then I realized. Whoever I was, wherever I was, this was my last day in this place. I was gonna get the hell outta here.

And I really wanted to kill something.

Tuesday again. Argh, those accursed Tuesdays.

First off, Aunt Faith. We saw her last night on patrol. Or actually, we didn't actually see her, but Dad said he smelled her. Somewhere around the Sunnydale dump. 

Which I think should have been funny, or something.

Anyway, we definitely dusted quite a few minions. Minions who foolishly admitted that they were Faith's. So she was preparing, regrouping. Readying for some sort of attack. Why else would she turn all those bodybuilders? 

Another topic. Guess who's back in town? 

Uncle Angel found her staring with large, dead eyes through the hotel room's window, singing about blackberries and lambs. I so won't think about _that_ particular song. Because if I thought really hard, I'm pretty sure I can recall the tune.

Anyway, she almost gave him a heart attack…well, at least she would have if his heart was still beating.

Anyway, that's what has Dad really pissed right now. Her. I think part of him is still jealous that Drusilla went to find Uncle Angel and not him, not that he'd ever admit it. So of course he takes it out on me. You wouldn't believe the inquisition I got regarding the people I hang out with, my friends. He said he wanted to make sure they weren't bad influences. And of course he spent most of the time asking who the hell that guy in the Bronze had been.

I insisted that we were just friends, but I think the traitorous blush gave me away. Damn.

That resulted in pacing and yelling and more grounding. And also very imaginative threats as to what will become of JB. I promised that I wouldn't "snog" with the "bloody pillock," whatever that meant. But only because Dad promised to do something not-nice to JB's various parts.

I'll ask Uncle Rupert what those words mean later. See if I can find a loophole or something. After all, I didn't promise not to sneak out to see him or anything, right?

Oh God, I hope he's still interested. I hope he doesn't think I'm a total loser with a screwed-up, way too uptight and overprotective family. 

Gotta go now. Aunt Dawn's gonna drive me and Jesse to school.


	44. October 1, 2019 Part 2

October 1, 2019—Lunch 

Good news!

Jamie passed me a note today, _from JB_. Scrawled in his spidery handwriting was_, "Meet me at the concourse during lunch."_ And Jamie gave hearty assurances that he still liked me. 

I sure hope so. Gotta go now.

__

He was sitting down, twirling his sticks (drumsticks) and generally looking cool as a cucumber. People walked past him and behind him, walking with friends during the lunch hour. Everyone was moving but stoic JB.

I shifted the heavy books in my arms and walked over nervously.

"Hey," he said, green eyes lighting up with a smile behind those glasses. Stood up, took my books. So sweet…

"H-hi," I squeaked, my voice suddenly gone. Damn! I had practiced a whole little speech on how I was sorry about what had happened on Sunday, but now my mind was completely blank. Oh well.

"An-and I'm really, really sorry about Sunday. You know, with the parental death-threats and-and…oh, I'm babbling again…"

His smile just widened. "I love it when you babble." 

"R-really?" I blushed, despite having told myself not to. I'm supposed to be able to handle this without spazzing or getting embarrassed to death! I was the freaking Slayer.

He sat down on his original spot and I joined him, feeling awkward but not uncomfortable.

"Yeah. You're adorable when you babble. Adorable when you smile. Adorable all the time."

During this, we had gotten a lot closer. Bare inches apart, finally. I tried to calm my nerves, hoping that I wouldn't destroy the moment.

"Angie, I'm sorry I didn't a chance to do this before, but…"

My heart pounded. I was anxious and eager, unsure…

We kissed.

Lunch had been fun. Very much so. I don't have much experience in the field (except for good-night kisses, I'm pretty much a newbie), but JB's a pretty good kisser. The one dampener on my mood is the fact that Jamie caught the whole thing. And she won't stop teasing me about it.

JB's just _so_ unbelievably adorable, from his ever-changing hair color to his penchant for animal crackers…What can I say? I've done my research.

I know, I know, I have bigger things to worry about than boys. Yeah, but—

Uh-oh. Principal Wood just called me down to his office. I think it might be because of the few cuts I've made. Or maybe a teacher complained? I don't know. I really hope that it was just a mistake and he was actually looking for someone else.

The last thing I need is to get into more trouble. Which reminds me: I better brush my teeth before I get home. And possibly spray on some perfume. I never exactly figured out just how good Dad's sense of smell was.

Oh, crap. Principal Wood wants to see me now.


	45. October 1, 2019 Part 3

October 1, 2019—Later

Principal Wood is pretty cool, as principals generally go. He was not really that old, just in his mid-forties, I think. And he's a snappy dresser. Had a sense of humor and all that, even if no one ever got any of his jokes. All in all, a nice-seeming guy.

He came from somewhere on the east coast. Just started principaling here the beginning of this school year. Although some students say that he'd been the principle before, at the old (not the first, however) Sunnydale High.

I'd never spoken to him in my life before.

__

I tentatively stepped through the door and stood awkwardly before his desk. The principal was working on some stuff and spoke without looking up.

"Angela Summers? Come on in, shut the door. And please sit down. We have a lot to get through today."

I nervously complied. And all the while, he never looked up, just kept going over his papers, scribbling stuff and whatnot. Whatever principals did.

"Alright, Angela. Your teachers have said that you are a little…different…lately. I don't like to pry, but are there any recent troubles you have with your peers or at home? Maybe something you'd like to share?"

What was this, a shrink session? 

Oh yes, Principal Wood. You see, I recently found out that everybody had been lying to me my entire life and that I'm the Chosen One, destined to fight the forces of darkness that go bump in the night.

"Um, no, not really." I fidgeted, had an urge to bite my nails.

"Are you sure? You're grades have been slipping, and your teachers say that you just don't seem to be applying yourself like you used to. And there is the matter of your recent class-cutting. I realize you'd probably be more comfortable speaking with the school counselor, but this is also a disciplinary matter, which I am required to handle."

"Sorry," I said automatically. "I didn't mean to—"

"To what? Cut class? Disappear on and off campus as you please? Disrupt the learning processes of other students?"

Principal Wood suddenly dropped his fist upon the table with a bang and looked up sharply. I shrank back into the chair the same moment he blinked and rubbed his eyes.

"Uh, excuse me for a moment, Miss…Summers." He finished rubbing his eyes and blinked several times, then stared at me with a decidedly puzzled gaze. "I'm sorry. Are you…are you related to Buffy Summers?"

Whaddya know. Second guy who asked me that this week. Well, not this_ week, actually. But definitely less than seven days ago. And that was technically a week, right? _

And I didn't even look that_ much like Mom. Right?_

And where did that sudden chill come from? A prickling on the back of my spine, not the one from demons being around, but more déjà vu-y.

"Yeah, I am."

He shook his head, looking a little bemused. Then glanced down at the stack of papers…which I had just realized were my records. Principal scribbling stuff on student records = bad.

"Buffy…Buffy…Buffy. Not listed." He looked up again, confusion now turned to distrust. 

"My Mom," I explained patiently. "Also dead."

"Oh!" He looked rather surprised. "I'm sorry." And he sounded like he meant it. So why was he wearing a tiny ironic smirk? 

And the way he scrutinized me was more than a bit uncomfortable.

"'S okay," I replied with a shrug, the nervousness I had in the beginning mostly gone. "Did you know her or something?" Why else would he think I looked like her?

The smirk became a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, I kind of did. We went out, albeit briefly."

I choked and started hacking up a lung.

Don't tell me: Buffy Summers was the town skank. Laid ever guy she met, regardless of age (some could have been distant ancestors) or occupation (super-secret commandos and school principals, puh-lease!).

Finally stopping long enough to draw in air, I just stared at the principal incredulously. "What?"

His smile faded. "Buffy. I used to date Buffy." Then his expression turned to a downright frown as he quickly scanned the papers again. "Wait a minute. Your father is listed as…William Summers?" His frown deepened. Then his eyebrows shot up and he just stared at me for a moment. A very long moment. "S-spike? Is that…" 

I nodded, fidgeted some more. Nervous again.

Principal Wood sighed and dropped his hands over his face. "And to think, I was just thinking of calling up 'Mr. Summers' to have a little talk about your recent indiscretions." He gave a little laugh and stared at me yet again, but this time looking more than a little wary.

"Um, I'm sorry?" I ventured tentatively, having absolutely no idea what in hell he was talking about.

He smiled. "No, no, it's all right. Tell me, how's Dawn? Willow Rosenberg? Xander Harris? Last time I saw him, he wasn't so great."

"Huh? Oh, um, they're all great. Fine. Have you met Jesse? He's Uncle Xander and Aunt Willow's kid. Were you friends with them?"

He shrugged. "Allies, friends, whichever. We got along well enough, if that's what you mean."

Was it just me, or did he not sound all that sincere?

"Well, is there anything else, Principal Wood? Or can I, you know, go back to lunch?"

He blinked. Shuffled his papers again. "Oh. You can go. But think about what we've talked over, okay? The part about your grades and class-cutting, at least. And if you have any concerns, you know where I am." He gave a friendly smile.

Okay, was it just me, or did Principal Wood act just the slightest bit unnatural back in there?

Unfortunately, I don't really have time to ponder that, 'cause the bell just rang. And I didn't find JB, either. Maybe I'll see him in the halls later.

He tastes like citrus.

Anyway, I really gotta go. You never know what Mlle Madison will do if you show up late to her class. I hope she doesn't turn me into a rat or give detention or something.


	46. October 1, 2019 Part 4

A/N: The site was down yesterday when I tried to post. Sorry for the delay!

Three guesses who barged in at the end.

October 1, 2019—Dinnertime

The one good thing about today is that JB asked me out after last period. We have a date at the movies, Friday night. Now all I have to do is figure out a way to go.

Anyway, I got home without much of a hassle. Okay, after borrowing Jamie's body spray and repeatedly brushing my teeth. And the garlic bread I ate afterwards didn't hurt, either. Kept Dad far, far away. Hopefully far enough not to notice anything.

Anyway, luckily Principal Wood rethought that little "calling-home" idea. I _already_ had all privileges suspended for two weeks—overreact, much?—and wasn't allowed to do anything except go to school, train with Uncle Rupert—he really shouldn't be _that_ good with a crossbow, at his age—afterwards, and go patrolling with Dad after that. 

How should I attempt to sneak out on Friday night? The classic out-the-bedroom-window routine? Or maybe something more original?

Dunno. I'll sneak around that obstacle when I get to it.

Ten minutes ago, I was sitting meekly downstairs, listening to ranting. Now I was sentenced to staying in my room indefinitely. To catch up on my schoolwork, which, according to Dad, was _much_ more important than even Slaying duties.

The impending disaster this time involved a phone call from a certain French teacher. Why did Aunt Dawn have to be off gallivanting with her boyfriend? Why couldn't she have answered the phone?

I have to finish my backed-up assignments and pay for a new book, although that technically was not my fault. I think Dad should contribute some money on the account that it was _his_ ex's hired help that destroyed the house along with the French book that had been in it.

So I had to brush my teeth again and I'm here until I finish two weeks worth of homework. And I thought I was too old to be made to sit in a corner or get a time-out.

Conjugations. Who needs all those verb tenses, anyway? And why couldn't everyone just speak one language?

__

La vache doit me touche, indeed.

I can't concentrate on French vocab anymore. I'm feeling sort of jittery. On edge, like I'd just downed ten cups of coffee. Anxious, even.

I'm heading downstairs, time-outs be damned.

__

The house was oddly still. Silent as a tomb. Even the air seemed dead and heavy, pressing down 14 pounds of weight on every square inch of my body.

Something was not exactly right. Dad was making dinner in the kitchen and catching up on old reruns. Shouldn't the stove or microwave be making some noise? Or the TV, surely. And they were. The house was filled with noise. But that was all somehow in the background.

What sounded clear to me were my footsteps on the carpeted stairs. And the uneven breaths I drew. And the pounding of my heart.

"Pet, what's wrong?"

Dimly, a part of my brain acknowledged Dad's presence. Felt his cold hands on my shoulder, felt him trying to communicate.

I stared at the door.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!

The door. Someone—or something—was trying to get in.

Dad shot another look at me, then narrowed his eyes at the door. Sniffed the air, perked his ears. Frowned.

WHAM! WHAM! WH-Craaack!-AM!

The door crashed down in shards, sending up a billowing cloud of sawdust and whatnot.

The figure in the doorway was disheveled, dirty, and appeared extremely dazed. Her very long hair was dusty and unkempt, tangled with dust, dust, and even more dust. Good thing she was covered in dirt, dust, and a little dried blood—and that her uneven dark blond hair was so very long—because she wasn't really wearing anything…well, unless you counted the remnants of chain around her wrists.

Confused green eyes stared out from a dirt-smudged face. She gazed at me for a moment, her lips curving into a frown. Then she blinked those green eyes and focused on Dad. 

The frown turned into a downright snarl.


	47. October 1, 2019 Part 5

A/N: Nowhere as descriptive as this could possibly go. But I have to keep the ratings down to PG13. Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter!

October 1, 2019—Late Evening

__

The figure snarled, leapt at him.

And Dad, he didn't move to defend himself. Just kept on staring at her in wonder. 

She tackled him; they rolled together on the ground, stopping finally at the junction between floor and wall. She was on top.

But then again, hadn't she always been? The few times I had accidentally wandered into their room without warning, hadn't she always been on top? Wild look in her eyes, wearing no visible clothing, face red in exertion and adrenaline pumping from lust and love of the hunt, breathing erratically. Moaning and groaning under the sheets wet with perspiration. She had always bitten him.

The only difference now was that there were no bed sheets. And no biting or moaning.

And the eagerness and lust was pretty much one-sided. Not to mention the fact that the nudity was also rather one-sided. And it was not so much lust as seething hatred, actually.

And hey, hey_! Put that remnant of the front door down! No sharp wooden objects, please._

But I was glued in place. A frozen spectator, unable to move or participate in the events which were unfolding.

Dad was utterly still, his expression open and completely trusting. Nothing but tender love in his gaze. I saw her eyes suddenly narrow, then widen. Saw the makeshift stake waver. Saw her hesitance, her confusion.

She climbed up and bolted into the night.

I'm at Aunt Willow's house. She just called my house again, and again, no one's home.

Dad went after her. Told me to go to Uncle Xander's house and stay there while he went to look for…her. The woman who was back from the grave yet again.

Mom. Was it really Buffy Summers? _Could_ it be her? Dad sure thought so.

I really have no clue about what's going on. No one does. Where did she come from? Aunt Willow said that her body had been swallowed by the Hellmouth. So how could a resurrection even work in the first place, assuming that's what happened?

My brain hurts from all this thinking. Hurts from worry and thinking. Tired now.

__

Running, running through the dark. Around trees, through bushes.

The woman ran in confusion, away from confusion. Followed her instincts, because her mind hadn't caught up with her return from the grave. A beast trapped in a paradox.

Tearing through the undergrowth, too panicked and wild to care about the bruises and scratches collecting on her blood-crusted skin. 

She had to get away. Her subconscious had led her to the strange dwelling with too-bright lights. Unnaturally bright, in the dark. And seeing that young girl…an electric shock had run from the base of her skull to the tip of her spine. But that didn't compare to seeing the undead corpse. A part of her had urged her to kill it, drive the shard of wood through its unbeating, shriveled heart. And she had been about to do that.

She had also expected it to attack her, try to bite her. But it didn't.

That must have been why she had stopped. Ran from the strange, strange house with its strange, strange occupants.

And now she was slowing down, heading to a certain spot. A little clearing at the edge of the forest. A small piece of light-colored stone stuck up from the ground, partly hidden by the weeds and moss that had sprung up or crept onto it through the passage of time. The stone was too smooth, the shape unnatural. And the soft glow of the moon illuminated the slight indentations traced onto the face of the stone.

She knelt by it, passed her fingers over the pattern chiseled into the stone, like a blind woman. But she couldn't read the words, could she?

I could. Floating in the background, in this strange little dream, I could read the words inscribed onto the tombstone. A tombstone I had never seen before, tucked away into a tiny hidden corner of one of the many cemeteries in Sunnydale. A few more years and it would have been completely covered by vegetation. Hidden forever from sight.

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS  
1981-2001  
BELOVED SISTER  
DEVOTED FRIEND  
SHE SAVED THE WORLD  
A LOT

Footsteps from behind. Someone else coming, following her. Her pursuer was silent, threading through the forest, on her scent, like a wraith.

He stopped at the edge of the line of trees.

"Buffy."

She started, terrified. Drew away from the headstone, prepared to flee again, like prey. It was human instinct this time that guided her thoughts and actions. Run from the predator.

"Don't go. Please."

Took a tentative step forward.

She whimpered, stared at him, the whites of her eyes clearly visible. Torn between attack and flee. Two sets of instincts, two sets of impulses. Predator and prey. Slayer and human woman.

"Please, luv. Stay."

Another step.

Slayer instincts won. Growling, she threw herself at him, bare hands formed into claws. Claws ready to scratch and tear, destroy and kill.

He caught her as she leapt, drew her into an embrace. Caught her mouth in a passionate kiss.

Blind rage turned into insatiable need. 

They battled for dominance, rolling about in the underbrush, their lips never disconnecting except to let her rise for air. And then she gasped in only a few rushed breaths before plunging back into him. 

I didn't really want to watch anymore. When I heard the sound of fabric ripping and heard her strangled cries, I felt a nausea that I didn't think was possible in a dream. Because this was a dream, surely.

And with that thought, I faded out…

I woke up, slightly embarrassed that I had dozed off in the midst of all this confusion. Aunt Willow still hasn't gotten any reply from Dad. I think she's about ready to do a tracing spell.

I think I should tell her to wait. Wouldn't want to disturb anything.

Give them a few more hours. 


	48. October 2, 2019 Part 1

October 2, 2019—Early One Morning

I woke up from a rather uneventful sleep. With no dreams at all, thank God. As if I wasn't already scarred for life…

Anyway, Aunt Anya was what woke up everybody who had been camped out at Chez Harris. She popped in, chattering happily about her latest job and munching Swiss chocolate. 

After that little wake-up call, Aunt Willow immediately called my house again, and again got no response. So the spell, then.

It turns out that there is exactly one live human, possibly asleep or passed out, at my house. And one demon, also likewise asleep or passed out. Very close together, not moving much.

Hopefully not _too_ close together. And hopefully wearing some semblance of clothing. Aunt Willow's driving me over to check up on the situation. The others would go, but they've all slipped back into dreamland. And Aunt Anya said she'd meet us there.

__

The front entrance to the house hadn't been disturbed at all. So Aunt Willow and I made our way around the back.

There was a trail of dirt and mud and blood leading to the back door. And caught on the bushes by the door were torn strips of black cotton and denim. So not_ thinking of the implications of that._

The back door was unlocked, open. We stepped through carefully, into the bowels of the dark house.

"Hello?" Aunt Willow asked nervously. 

No answer. 

She made her way out of the kitchen, to explore the rest of the house.

My eyes adjusted enough to the gloom for me to make out the state of disarray the kitchen was in. For the first time, I felt the stirrings of worry. This was what the house had looked like after Drusilla's hired demons had barged in…

I followed the path Aunt Willow had taken, walking around upended pieces of furniture.

"Oh!" I heard Aunt Willow say.

She backed out quickly, her face flushed to match her hair. "Um, I suggest you stay out of the living room."

I raised my eyebrows. "I didn't hear them go at it like rabbits."

I heard a slight pop. 

"Why must you mention rabbits?" Aunt Anya asked loudly, looking visibly distressed. "It's always those accursed rabbits with their beady little eyes—"

She stopped talking as we heard movement coming from the direction of the aforementioned living room.

"Uh-oh. They're up." Aunt Willow shot a withering glare at Aunt Anya.

I heard a yawn. Then…

"Where are my pants?" A pause. "Uh, stop nibbling there, luv. That's a bit distracting."

I wonder if anyone would mind if I crawled under the carpet and never came out again.

The glimmer of understanding passed across Aunt Anya's face. "Oh! Post-sex napping! Oopsies. I know I'm always a little cranky if I get interrupted—"

"Anya!" Aunt Willow hissed. Her eyes darted in the direction of the living room. "Uh, I think we should give them a little privacy. Maybe we should…I dunno, get back into the kitchen?"

"I'd appreciate that," Dad called out.

I helped Aunt Willow drag Aunt Anya away, back into the demolished kitchen. And to think, I had school in a few hours…

"Willow, I thought you said you weren't going to do a resurrection spell ever again," Aunt Anya said calmly after we pushed her down onto a kitchen stool. "So are you around the bend again? You don't look all that evil or vein-y to me."

Huh?

Aunt Willow rolled her eyes. "No, it wasn't me. And no, I'm not evil again. No one knows exactly how or why Buffy's back from heaven this time."

Heaven? Why did they assume Mom had been in heaven? And Aunt Willow, evil? Didn't make much sense.

And I was pretty sure I knew who had resurrected Mom this time around.

Dad walked gingerly into the kitchen, his hair sticking up all over the place, with a goofy grin and several bruises and bite marks visible on his face and neck. He sat down very, very carefully.

"Uh, Buffy's sleeping. I think she's a little…tired…from-from being resurrected and all. Yeah, that's it."

"No, I think its from having lots and lots of amazing sex with lots and lots of orgasms," Aunt Anya clarified.

Dad groaned and dropped his face into his hands. Aunt Willow tried not to laugh, but that didn't exactly work out. And of course I just smiled obliviously and pretended that I had no idea what she was talking about. I was getting good at that, lately.

"So, anyway, is it really Buffy?" Aunt Willow managed to ask.

"Looks like Buffy, smells like Buffy, feels like Buffy. Red, I'd place my bets on Buffy."

"How is she?"

He shook his head, finally serious. "I don't know. She's a little…out of it. Disoriented."

Aunt Willow hesitated a bit. "And do you know how she got back?"

He shook his head again.

I slowly raised my hand. "Um, I think I might know. I've had dreams…"

I told them about my wacky dreams. At least the part about how Ethan Rayne was connected to Mom being back. The thing was, what could be his motive? Why would he bring back Buffy Summers, the most successful Slayer to date?

He could be working for this evil dude called the First. That's what they all think. But that doesn't really make much sense, either. Rayne was supposedly a worshipper of chaos, not necessarily evil. From what I understand, he doesn't want the world to end, really. Just to have a little fun and wreak a little havoc, then stand back and watch the silly people get all confused. But resurrecting Mom to get the First involved would be a lot less fun and a lot more world-ending.

Besides, from what I've seen in a few recent dreams, I don't think he'll be trying anything for a little while.

Mom's waking up.


	49. October 2, 2019 Part 2

October 2, 2019—Later

__

Mom looked much like she did last night, perhaps a little more disheveled, but definitely calmer and seemingly not as wild, wrapped up in Dad's old coat that was made up of the skins of dead cows. 

"Buffy?" Aunt Willow asked hesitantly. She stepped in the room slowly, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. "Buffy, it's me, Willow."

Mom's eyes widened and she shrank back into the couch.

"Luv, it's okay. These are friends of yours. Friends." He said the word slowly, then gestured to Aunt Willow and Aunt Anya. "They want to talk to you. Can you do that, luv?"

Mom looked a little confused. Opened her mouth, cleared her throat. "F-f-fire…bad. Tree, pretty."

Aunt Willow's face lit up into a smile. "You remember!" She turned and regarded Aunt Anya. "She remembers! That incident at UC Sunnydale, with the beer and the primates."

Aunt Willow was very excited. I was very confused. So was everybody else.

"Uh…right. Listen, is there anything else? Buffy needs her rest."

Aunt Willow sobered immediately. "Um, sorry. Uh, Buffy, how are you? I mean…how have you been? Where…um…" She trailed off, embarrassed. 

No one wanted to broach the topic.

"Were you torn out of heaven again? 'Cause if you were, I had nothing to do with it."

Apparently everyone but Aunt Anya.

Mom…Buffy, whatever…closed her eyes and put her hands up to cover her ears, almost as if she was trying to shut everyone out. Silent distress was written across every square inch of her visage.

Dad sent Aunt Anya a glare and Mom a small kiss. And that was my cue to get the hell outta there. 

Back to Jesse's house. Uncle Xander's gonna drive us to school in a few. 'Cause despite all that's been going on, the adults all somehow seem as adamant as ever about school. Jeez. As if there wasn't enough going on…

I still haven't really thought that much about it. About my dead mother coming back to life, and acting absolutely nothing like what I remembered. So…savage. Like a wild beast. I think she recognized Aunt Willow, at the very least. And definitely Dad. But aside from that, I'm not sure just how much she remembers from her, well…life.

Does she remember me?


	50. October 2, 2019 Part 3

October 2, 2019—1st Period

We kissed again.

It was right before class. I was feeling a little depressed, thinking about Mom and all. JB totally surprised me with breakfast (a half-eaten bag of animal crackers) and, well, the kiss. He still tastes like citrus.

Yeah. I like citrus.

Anyway—

__

I was talking to Jamie again, all the while stealing glances at JB, who was helping other people move around the pit equipment.

"—Which was really bad. And are you even listening?"

"Uh-huh," I said absent-mindedly, my gaze locked onto the pale kid with now-black hair. Very strange look on him, but an interesting change nevertheless. Now, if only it wasn't spiked…

"And then I slept with your new boyfriend behind your back."

"Uh-huh." You'd never know it to look at him, but he had some muscle. How else would JB manage to single-handedly grab the xylophone and hoist it up the steps?

"And now's probably the time for me to tell you that I accidentally spilled cherry coke all over that white blouse I borrowed last week."

"Uh-huh." Wait a minute. "What?"

Jamie smiled sweetly. "Nothing."

Yeah, right. I was just about to ask her to clarify her response when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

JB! I had no clue how he'd managed to get from there to here in the time I wasn't paying attention.

"Hey."

"Hey there! Hi," I replied, still all nervous and babble-y. I'm always like that when JB's near. Maybe it's because the butterflies rise in my stomach when he's around. And the fact that my heart beats faster and I start to blush…

He smiled. Blue braces. Even his braces were cute.

"I was wondering…"

I strained to hear the rest of the sentence. But although his mouth moved, I couldn't hear any sound coming out. I tried to speak, but also could not hear a single word I was shouting.

I couldn't hear anything at all but a dim buzz of noise that very slowly increased in volume.

JB was trying to say something to me. I tried to yell back, to no avail. Still couldn't hear myself. Jamie covered her ears and her mouth moved, too. Now everybody all around was staring at me, mouths moving. The substitute teacher included. 

But when I could finally understand the voice that was becoming clearer every minute, I forgot all about the people around me. I was lost in the woman's voice.

Hot, so hot. Everything's so hot. Hot is bad.

No one else had heard it, that much was obvious. That's when I realized that the voice was in my head. I was hearing thoughts! 

Don't want to talk to them. Too many questions, too many words. Too many stares. Don't like stares.

I could feel rising agitation that was not my own. This person, a woman, was feeling threatened. And she wanted to attack.

They want to know where I was. They say they're sorry. For what? Do they wish me dead?

What the heck? Vaguely I was aware of the substitute teacher's face an inch from mine, his lips forming words very slowly. I felt the stares of my classmates, felt JB's hand now gripping my shoulder, felt Jamie's hand locked around my arm. Holding me in place, all of them. Restraining me. Like the woman was caged and trapped by all those people.

They talk too loudly. It hurts my ears. And this garment is too restrictive. I feel like I'm bound in a net.

Unconsciously, I began to struggle. I think I knocked over some people. Not sure.

All of a sudden, the mind which was somehow linked to mine began to relax. Softened. 

Ah, yes. Here's the cold I wished. Cold, cold, cold…

I took a deep breath and let it out. Stopped struggling, stood stock still in the middle of the floor.

Mmm…don't go. Don't pay attention to those hot, loud people .Too warm. Too much noise. Come back.

I felt a sharp pang, a hungering, unsure whether it was truly mine.

Come back here, enemy mine. I need to destroy. Destroy the cold, right? That's what I'm here for. But I like the cold so…

I was aware that I was being dragged against my will out of the room by people whose faces I could not see. Through the hallways, past staring students.

I can almost remember why they're all here. Can almost remember how I know them. Because…I think I do know them. All of them. But they have too many words. Strange, strange words, with strange, strange sounds. I had tried them earlier, but I wasn't sure what I'd said. It had been the first thing—the only thing—that came to mind, rising out of the dim fog. The one with the flaming head had acted even more strangely, making even more noise as well as wild gesticulations. Does she burn? Does her head burn with reddish-orange flame?

I was aware that I was being firmly planted in a seat, in an office of sorts.

I do not want to remember. That brings me pain, like when I was in that dark, cold place. It had seemed like a relief at first, with the welcoming cold. But it had been so lonesome…Ah, yes. The cold again. Oh, give it to me. Give me everything. They're gone. Now give it to me…

The voice was fading. And I could almost hear Principal Wood's words.

"…all right? Can you hear…"

…Perhaps I will try to remember later. But for now…the cold. Yes, again, again…

The voice disappeared.

"Angela?"

Firmly back in reality, I looked at my surroundings shakily. The principal's office. Principal Wood was looking at me in concern.

"Are you all right?"

I shook my head. "I-I don't really know."


	51. October 2, 2019 Part 4

A/N: Sorry about the recent inconsistent updates. I had a field trip on Thursday and didn't get back until late. And as usual, no updates on Tuesdays. Thanks for all the great reviews!

October 2, 2019—Noon

Aunt Willow's coming to pick me up. I told Principal Wood and the school nurse that I was sick. That wasn't exactly far from the truth.

Mom's thoughts, that's what I had heard. They were Mom's feelings and impulses, her instincts that caused me to attack a few classmates.

She was the one who felt all alone, who was, in a way, glad to be back. And I was pretty sure that Aunt Willow and Aunt Anya had brought over everyone else to try and talk to Mom. But she didn't remember them or understand their words. And she didn't like all of them being around.

She didn't like their warmth or chatter. She liked the cold…

Oh, oh. _Eww_. I just got that. Okay, that's just really gross.

Another topic. Why didn't she understand the attempts at communication? Why couldn't she remember us? 

Where had she been?

Aunt Willow's here now. The principal wants to talk to her.

__

"Robin?"

To say she was shocked would have been a major understatement. The principal was equally surprised.

"Willow? Is that you?"

Wait a minute. They knew each other?

Aunt Willow's face split into a wide smile, then a little pout.

"You betcha. Robin, you just left. We had no idea where you were, if you'd been killed."

Principal Wood's face clouded. "Uh, yes. I wasn't exactly sure…I mean, we've had our differences in the past."

Aunt Willow looked like she wanted to make some sort of reply, but then thought better of it, her eyes flickering in my direction. 

"So, what's wrong? Honey, you don't look sick."

I shrugged. Didn't really feel like explaining in front of the principal. No matter how chummy he appeared to be with Aunt Willow.

"Ahem. Angela was behaving irrationally in class earlier. Shouting loudly, attacking students. She seemed a little out of it."

Aunt Willow's gaze turned to concern. "Angie, what happened?" She saw my hesitance and sighed. "It's all right. Robin…he knows."

Oh. Okay. 

"Um, well, I couldn't hear anything. It was sort of like all sounds just blanked out. And then I think I heard thoughts."

Aunt Willow's eyes widened. "Did you get demon blood on your skin?"

"Huh?" What was she talking about?

"Uh, never mind. What kind of thoughts were you hearing? And whose thoughts were they?"

I wasn't sure if I wanted to say it. Wasn't sure if I could_ say it._

"I'm not sure," I whispered, staring at the floor. "There was a lot of confusion. The-the person, the person didn't like all those talking people. Didn't like the heat and noise."

"Angie. Look at me."

Meekly, I did just that. Aunt Willow was using her "resolve" face again. The one that said, "I know what I'm talking about and you aren't going to change my mind."

"Now, do you have any idea who it might have been?"

I tried to look away, but there was no escaping the "resolve" face.

I nodded. "M-maybe."

A pause. All right, she was_ asking for it. But did it have to be here, in front of my principal?_

"Well?"

"Mom." The word dropped like a dead weight from my tongue. Hit the ground and shattered like glass.

Aunt Willow drove me home then. Told Principal Wood she'd call him later and explain the situation.

After I was done being grilled by a plethora of agitated adults.

__

"So."

No one knew how to start, least of all poor Aunt Dawn. She'd just gotten home from an all-niter with Connor. She had probably just gotten the scoop on what was going on. She probably wanted to lay eyes on her long-dead sister, but Mom was currently upstairs, behind closed doors. With Dad. And judging from the occasional muffled growls and cries as well as thumps and bumps emanating through the thin walls, Aunt Dawn wasn't going to see Buffy Summers for quite a while.

"Angie, can you tell us what you heard?" Uncle Rupert asked, cleaning his glasses yet again as another strangled yell came from upstairs, followed by a loud crash. "In your head, I mean."

I nodded, tried to recall the details. "Well, she thought it was too warm. Too hot here, for one thing. And she didn't like how everyone asked questions and stared at her. I don't think she understood what you were saying."

Aunt Willow frowned. "Did she know who we were?"

I shook my head and her face fell. "No, I don't think so. But she knew that you were familiar. She felt…bound. Trapped by your questions, your stares, your warmth. Um…I think she liked the cold."

"What are you talking about?" Uncle Rupert asked. A thump and squeal came from upstairs. "Oh!" His face colored and the glasses received yet another scrubbing.

"Yeah."

A slight pause in conversation, as the thumps and bumps increased in volume.

"So, anyway," Uncle Xander said quickly, rubbing his hands. "Do you know why she's back or where's she's been?"

"I think she broke out from wherever Rayne had her locked up. And I think she kinda beat him up. The dried blood? All his."

Uncle Rupert almost smiled. Very unsettling.

"And what about where's she's been?" Aunt Dawn whispered.

I shook my head. No idea.

"She had to have been in heaven, right?" Aunt Willow said, looking around for support. "Buffy sacrificed herself to save the world. Just like last time."

"So she was torn out of heaven again," Uncle Xander agreed. "That would explain the disorientation. Maybe the effects are just a bit longer than last time. After all, Buffy's been in heaven for years now, as opposed to mere months."

They all agreed. Came up with reasons for why Mom had to have been in heaven. Because the alternative, that she had been in hell and that no one had tried to save her, was too horrible to consider.

They were swimming in the river of denial. All that antipathy toward warmth—I have to admit, I've never been very religious, but it was almost a perfect metaphor for raging hellfire. And she had come back so savage, so wild. Not like a being that had descended from heaven.

Uncle Angel's going to come over soon. Aunt Willow just got off the phone with Principal Wood. And they're still debating whether to tell Mr. Finn or not.

I think I'm going to go out. Take a few walks in the graveyards. Yeah, it was daylight out, but maybe I could find a nest and burn them while they slept.

Just need to get away from all the delusion and denial.


	52. October 2, 2019 Part 5

A/N: Will get more chipper.

October 2, 2019—Later

__

The hot sun warmed me. I liked the sun, the glowing ball of hot flame that that sent its gentle soothing rays upon this world, allowing life to grow and flourish. It made everything seem so much more cheerful, even here in the cemetery.

I began to whistle as I walked briskly through the tombstones, twirling my stake. Very inappropriate, I know. I wasn't usually this chipper in a graveyard; but then again, I also usually didn't come here in the daytime.

"Hey!"

I heard a distant voice, from somewhere near the cemetery entrance. A familiar voice. I turned, quickly stuffed my stake in my pocket.

"JB! What are you doing here?"

For a moment he had a deer-in-the-headlights look. Then he quickly relaxed into his normal attitude, Mr. Ultra-Cool. But the seed of suspicion had been planted in my mind. It was sad, really, how easily suspicious I was becoming.

"Out for a walk. You?"

"Oh, not much. I'm taking a walk too." And it was sad how easy it was to lie to the people I cared about.

He smiled, making me want to melt on the spot. No, bad Angie! He's acting suspicious. Must not think about how yummy he looks.

"That's nice. Mind if I join?"

"Sure." No other choice, really. It wasn't like I was so insensitive as to think about boys at a time like this, of course. I was only doing this to keep an eye on him. Because he had looked suspicious, not_ because of how absolutely adorable he looked…_

"Angie? Uh, Angie?"

I jerked, then smiled. "Oh! Sorry, I spaced for a sec."

He gave me a look that made me want to spill my deepest secrets.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner."

My heart almost skipped a beat. And the deep crimson flush burned down my cheeks, hotter than even the sun's rays.

"Sure," I squeaked. "Love to."

"Great." That darling smile again. "I'll pick you up on Friday, at 6? We can see a movie at 8, after you meet my dad."

That's great, really. Except for the "picking up" idea. My house was a bad place for an unsuspecting innocent to wander into. Especially an unsuspecting innocent Dad had almost seen me lock lips with. Although that was kinda hypocritical, considering what was probably still going on at my house even now.

"How about I meet you instead?" I suggested. "That way, you wouldn't have to leave home, pick me up, and then go back home again. Saves ya a few trips."

He shrugged. "Why not?"

Then what he'd just said registered. "Wait a minute. Dinner…at your house. How should I act? Oh God, what if your dad doesn't like me?" Or worse yet, threaten pulverization and certain death like my_ dad?_

JB patted my arm and smiled. "Don't worry, Angie. Just be yourself. He'll love you."

Somewhat comforted, I let him walk me out of the graveyard, back to Revello Drive.

JB didn't come in. Actually, he didn't come anywhere near my house. I had him drop me off at a corner and I walked back alone.

I needn't have worried. The only person that really minded me getting a social life was still upstairs. Note to self: must buy earplugs or move out.

Now, what was JB doing in the graveyard in the first place? I was there—not because I thought I'd actually slay any vamps in broad daylight—for the peace and quiet. But I doubt most people went there for a little r & r.

He's much too nice to be evil, that's for sure…Right? If almost everyone I knew didn't have several examples to the contrary on that point, I could have almost made myself believe it.

Anyway, must ransack closet for something nice—though not too dressy or fashionable—to wear on Friday. Need to make a good impression, even if they are evil—_especially_ if they're evil. And it was my duty to get rid of evil, right? So I was doing this to make sure Sunnydale stayed safe, _not_ because I was head-over-heels over JB.

Hmm…I don't think sneaking out will be any problem. Sounds like Dad might be occupied through next week.


	53. October 4, 2019 Part 1

October 4, 2019—Morning

Today's the day. I "borrowed" Aunt Dawn's black platforms (it's not like she'd notice they're gone; she never wears them anyway—she's certainly tall enough) and found a flowered skirt (an actual _skirt_, which normally I'd never be caught dead in) Aunt Cordy had gotten me. That had been before she'd figured out that I'd rather get a new pair of combat boots than the latest frilly designer mini. Well, unless it happened to be leather or belong to Aunt Faith…or both, as was most likely.

Hmm. I miss Aunt Faith. Wonder what she's been up to these past few days. When the bad guys lay low, you just _know_ they're planning something destructive. Hopefully not too apocalyptic.

Anyway, I gotta go now. My hair is just about fine—as fine as I can get it to be when the entire house seems to shake with every thump coming from a certain bedroom. Man, do they _ever_ stop or get tired? How can two regular people—okay, maybe not exactly normal people—manage to last this long without coming downstairs for a quick bite, at least? 

Actually, now that I think about it, Dad had quite a few visible bites the last time I saw him. 

Okay, bad visual place. Exiting now.

I've really got to go. Aunt Willow's getting restless. I think it's partly because her company's losing customers to this new computer corporation that's been hogging business lately. I think it begins with an "D" or something.

Well, it's either that or she doesn't like finding out that my parents are still going at it upstairs. So busy doing it, in fact, that Mom won't even talk her bestest friends.

Anyway, gotta go now.

Oh, and I gotta remember to thank Aunt Dawn and tell her this later: the earplugs work great.


	54. October 4, 2019 Part 2

A/N: Okay, this story goes up to the last five episodes, but is entirely AU from there, even if there are bits and pieces from the show. I know I shouldn't have read the spoilers, but I couldn't help myself. Now I'm feeling all depressed and feel the need to write Spuffy…well, either Spuffy or angst. Probably angst. But I shall remain in denial about spoilers for parts of the last episode until I see it on May 20th. Even then, denial is still a good way to go.

October 4, 2019—Lunch

Urg. I've been called to the principal's office yet again. What now?

__

"Sit down, sit down. Please, sit down and relax, Angela."

Sit down, sure. Relax? Hah. My fingers clutched the wooden armrests in death grips. A bit more stress and they would go snap.

"What did I do now?" I didn't mean for it to come out that way, making me sound demanding and seem more than a little shifty.

He smiled benignly and waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, nothing's wrong. I just felt we should…talk."

Talk? Talking was never just talking when it was with school officials.

"Um, okay. What about?"

He shrugged, smiled again. "Anything you want. I thought you might need to speak with someone…someone who at least partly gets what you're talking about, if not fully."

My turn to shrug. "I'm great, Principal Wood. Never better."

He gave me a long look and nodded slowly. If he wasn't at least 30 years older than me and the school principal, he might've said something akin to, "Bullshit."

"Angela. Your mother just came back from the dead. And I thought Willow mentioned something about Faith. And here I thought she was dead, too."

I couldn't help but glare at him. "Aunt Faith is_ dead. What, did you use to go out with her, too?"_

"Well, actually…um, no. We never *went out*, exactly. Ahem." 

I didn't want to know why he blushed.

"So, uh…how's your mother?"

My turn to shrug. "I don't know. Haven't really seen much of her lately. Although she sounds pretty…healthy…and seems to have a lot of stamina."

Poor Principal Wood looked completely bemused. "Uh…that's really nice. Have you spoken to her at all? Do you know why she's here?"

I see Aunt Willow's left out quite a few details.

"Uh, no one's been able to get very close to Mom…well, not to talk to her, anyway. I don't think she likes talking, still being kinda disoriented from being dead and all."

He shook his head, still completely lost. "So no one's checked up on her?"

"Um…she's just fine. Working out her…tensions, I guess. But definitely a-okay."

Principal Wood frowned. His hand danced over to the telephone. "Are you sure? Maybe I should call. Is anyone home?"

Just the two lovebirds. 

"I really don't think that's a good idea."

His look turned suspicious. His hand curved around the receiver. "Are you sure?"

I nodded frantically. "Really, really_ sure. Trust me, you do _not_ want to dial that number."_

Principal Wood narrowed his eyes. Picked up the receiver and dialed the numbers. Set it on speakerphone.

Silently, I chanted a mantra in my head. It went something like this: Oh God, please don't answer the phone. Oh God, please don't answer the phone. Oh God—

The call got picked up on the fourth ring.

"What the bloody hell do you want?"

I cringed.

"Mr. Summers? This is Angela's principal, from Sunnydale High."

"Oh. What did she…hey, cut that out! Hold on a sec."

There were muffled sounds coming through now. A crash and definitely moaning.

Principal Wood stared at the phone in growing alarm.

"Now, stay there until I'm finished talking to this bloke, okay luv? No funny stuff. Ahem. Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Where were we? Is Angela in trouble?"

Funny how less menacing that sounded than usual.

"Actually, no, she's fine. I was calling about the whereabouts of her mother, Buffy Summers."

There was a pause from the other end.

"Who's the wise guy?" Okay, sounding pissed-off now. "What do you know 'bout Buffy?"

Principal Wood cleared his throat nervously. "I'm, uh, the school principal, Robin M. Wood. I'm calling strictly for official business."

A derisive snort came from the other end.

"Thought that sniveling voice sounded familiar. What are you doing back in sodding Sunnyhell?" The voice had just changed from angry to cold. Which forebode badness for the principal.

Principal Wood swallowed nervously, but managed to keep his voice steady. I gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Like I said, Sp—uh, Mr. Summers, I'm just concerned for you daughter. I felt the need to find out how…how her mother is."

"I see. Well, Buffy appreciates your concern."

A pause. A growl could be heard from the other end.

"Actually, no she doesn't. If you don't mind, let's have this con—hey, luv, none of that now!—this conversation at a later date. I'm afraid you're…interrupting something."

Click. Dial tone.

"I tried to explain," I said apologetically.

And then I think Principal Wood finally got it. Mom was fine. Just really, really busy and not in the mood for interruptions.


	55. October 4, 2019 Part 3

A/N: Will get next chapter up ASAP!

October 4, 2019—After School

Okay, I'm perfectly ready. I'm going to smile a lot and…smile some more. Okay, JB's dad is Daniel Osbourne. He does stuff with computers. Is he Tibetan? Will he think I'm a babbling idiot? What if I'm dressing like a blond bimbo? What if I forget how to use a fork? What if I talk too much? Or not enough? What if he thinks I'm a total idiot?

Deep breath. Okay, I'm ready. 

The most amazing thing happened today. When I got home from school, Dad _actually got out of his room and came downstairs_. Wanted to know if Robin M. Wood was really principaling at Sunnydale High again. Now I think he wants to put me in a private school.

He said Mom was feeling better, more like her old self. Not that she was coming downstairs anytime soon. Aunt Anya swung by and made a comment about a new type of therapy, which was when Aunt Willow quickly changed the subject, started complaining about her company's competitor, the Dingoes.

That's when I realized where I'd heard that name before. The Dingoes was headed by none other than Daniel Osbourne himself. JB's dad.

Oooh, awkward conversation topic there. I'll be sure to avoid that at dinner. Anyway, no one even asked where I was going. I think I like this new arrangement.

And I sure hope Mom's "therapy" is completed soon. Earplugs may work miracles, but I'm still not getting much sleep at night. 

Oh, crap! Gotta go now. Hope the skirt isn't too flowery.

__

I rang the doorbell of the nice-looking suburban house. Very ordinary-seeming, with a neat lawn and everything.

Perfectly normal. So why was I getting those feelings—not tingles, exactly, but a strange kind of sensation nevertheless—when I approached the house?

The door swung open. JB, looking as adorable as ever, smiled brightly.

"Hey, Angie. Come on in."

I stepped through the doorway and was immediately assaulted by a tornado of soft fur. And a very warm, very rough tongue.

"Jordy, down! This is Angie, my girlfriend. Go get Dad."

The very large dog turned immediately and trotted off, wagging his tail all the way. 

He said girlfriend_! JB called me his _girlfriend_! Okay, calm down and breathe._

"Wow, cool. I didn't know you had a dog."

"I do. An Alaskan Malamute. Her name's Leena." 

Huh? "But…you called him Jordy."

He smiled, shook his head. "He's my cousin's. Just here for a visit."

Just then, a not very tall man with very green hair walked out from the direction of the kitchen, his face never changing expression. Behind him came a very tall and skinny guy, maybe college age, dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants. Barefoot. His hair was kinda of mussed and it was slightly unnerving how he kept sniffing me. And also weird how he had an oriental-looking talisman tied very loosely around his wrist.

"Hi," the man I assumed was Mr. Osbourne said. "Angie, right?"

I nodded, still staring at the other guy. He gave one last sniff and nodded, then turned back and loped off. Interesting…

"That's my cousin Jordy," JB explained.

Wait a minute. "Your cousin has the same name as his dog?"

JB shrugged. "Yeah. Weird."

I shook my head, turned back to JB's dad. "Are you Mr. Osbourne? It's nice to meet you."

He nodded, almost smiled, but his expression remained constant. "Summers? Is that your last name?"

Okay. Interesting greeting. "Yeah. Angela Summers. That's me."

"Okay. Drink?"

"Oh, no thanks. I'm fine." I had to bite my cheek till I drew blood to stop babbling, but I was otherwise just peachy.

Hmm. Mr. Osbourne was even more stoic than JB. Very interesting indeed. At least he didn't ask me if I was related to Mom. I think if one more person asked me that, I was going to scream.

"In case I forgot to mention it earlier, you look great," JB whispered when Mr. Osbourne had gone. "Love the skirt."

I blushed. "Thanks." I didn't bother to tell him that I despised anything frilly and flowery.

"My dad can be a little weird," he explained. "And Cousin Jordy's even more so. Especially right after he's been…practicing…with Dad."

I smiled. "No big. Your family's pretty normal. Wait till you meet mine."

Just the people who are not_ my parents, of course. Not that they were likely to crawl out and rejoin society for a while._

The strange sensation that had kinda receded came back very suddenly. 

"Dinner's ready."

And with that very short and to the point message, the night commenced.


	56. October 4, 2019 Part 4

A/N: BTW, Jordy's the very same Jordy that bit Oz way back in Season 2. Only he was a baby, now he's all grown up.

October 4, 2019—Evening

__

Oooh, pasta. I liked pasta. Especially with garlic bread. And there was plenty of garlic bread here. I liked garlic bread a lot, the taste of it. Plus it was useful.

"So how long have you lived in Tibet, Mr. Osbourne?" I asked. I couldn't think of any other conversation starters. Talking about his job was clearly not a good icebreaker.

And the rest of the dinner table didn't seem like talkative types, after Jordy excused himself midway through the meal.

"19 years."

I almost choked on my piece of garlic bread. First of all, he replied right away, like he had already thought of his answer. Secondly, he was way_ too calm. And finally, his expression never changed throughout._

"That's nice," I continued, when he didn't extrapolate. "Where were you before that?"

Now there was almost a flicker of change in the man's visage. And was he staring at me?

"Sunnydale."

Oh! A local.

"Cool. So what made you decide to move back?"

That same funny look again.

"Wanted to check up on some old friends."

Wow. Almost a complete sentence, there. 

"Well, have you? I mean, maybe they moved? 'Cause 19 years, wow. That's a lot of time. Before I was born, even. So that's gotta be a long time ago, right? And I'm babbling again. JB, you know better than to let me babble when I babble." I shut up and attacked the pasta again.

I expected JB's smile, but certainly not Mr. Osbourne's.

"You remind me of a girl I used to know."

Oh. Okay. Please don't say Buffy Summers, please don't say Buffy Summers, please don't—

"Do you know a Willow Rosenberg?"

My silent mantra broke. My jaw dropped.

Aunt Willow? Mr. Osbourne knew Aunt Willow?! And here, I had been avoiding any mention of her whatsoever. Because of the whole competing company thing.

And it would appear that they were in fact old friends.

"Hello?"

I snapped out of it. "Aunt Willow! You know Aunt Willow? Wow, that's so weird…uh, cool."

An eyebrow raise was all I got out of it. "How is she?"

I shrugged. "Fine, great. Her company isn't doing so great, though." Yep, Sunnydale Finances had been going downhill ever since the Dingoes came to town.

"I mean, how is she_? How's Willow? Does she…have a family?"_

I nodded, aware of a tiny change in his countenance. "Yeah. She's married to Uncle Xander…uh, Alexander Harris. And they have a kid. A son."

Mr. Osbourne nodded. "Always figured those two would hook up." His expression was now as stoic as ever. "More pasta?"

Mr. Osbourne was the coolest! He didn't ask me any more questions after that, fortunately. Did you know he was in a band? Lead guitarist. Best of all, he didn't cross-examine me, not like he seemed the sort to ask all those questions, anyway. 

And then Jordy came back out, with Leena, JB's dog. He's so not bad, either. He stopped sniffing me after dinner.

Anyway, Mr. Osbourne said he'd like to get to know me better. An that he might drop by for a visit. God forbid he finds out what type of people his only son's girlfriend lives with.

The disturbing thing is, I think Mr. Osbourne knows my address. I never told him, and I don't think JB knows exactly, either. That's just creepy. And I kept on getting the feeling that there was a lot more stuff he wanted to ask me. Like maybe who the hell my parents were, for one. Maybe he used to know them.

Well, dinner went without difficulty. And the movie was okay, too. But I didn't really see much of it. I think it was a chick flick. Or maybe a slasher. Like I said, I didn't catch much of it.

The theater was just so nice and dark. And JB was a really, _really_ good kisser.


	57. October 6, 2019 Part 1

A/N: I really, _really_ need to start cracking on my Compendium. So just a short update today.

October 6, 2019—Very Early Morning

Why is everyone up so early? What woke us up before the crack of dawn (or, more accurately, before the crack of Aunt Dawn slamming her alarm clock to pieces)?

Mom's hungry!

That in itself is amazing enough. But even more astonishing is the fact that she went downstairs and announced it to the whole house. And then told Aunt Dawn that she'd take just about anything but the peanut butter quesadillas. 

She remembers!

Aunt Anya declared her "cured." Wondered if she could try this "therapy." Whereas Mom got a teensy bit possessive and knocked her out the kitchen door. Last I saw, Aunt Anya was grumbling and mumbling about teleporting to Sri Lanka.

Okay, so Mom was still a little…unhinged. But mostly Mom. She remembers what had happened, and why she's back. And she called a Scooby meeting for later today, where she'd fill everybody in at once. Said it was too much to repeat, and she didn't want to leave anything out.

Thus said, no one felt exactly sleepy anymore. Gotta go get breakfast now.

__

The kitchen was oddly quiet and empty, all things considered.

Mom was sitting at the table, clutching a cup of black coffee and staring off into space.

Tiptoeing, I turned to walk back before she noticed me.

"Angie, wait."

Crap. I revolved back around. 

"Hi," I said uncertainly. Hadn't had a conversation with her for so long. I didn't even know how to address my own mother. Should I call her Mom? Buffy? 

She smiled, kind of distantly. "So grown up. My baby's all grown up. C'mere, honey."

And then, the strangest thing. All my inhibitions melted. I melted into my mother's waiting arms. It was like she'd never been gone.

Well, I had a long heart-to-heart with Mom. Mostly it was me, babbling away about the stuff that had been going on these past years, interspersed with random bits of trivia about random people. Turned into a kind of post-slumber party, all-out girl-talk session.

One bad thing about Mom was her tendency to over-share when excited. Not like I was one to talk. Somehow she'd managed to completely naturally wheedle out the details of my first kiss. And this wasn't something I'd told my closest friends. 

With that came the interesting thing about how similar Aunt Dawn and Mom were, perhaps owing to the fact that Aunt Dawn was _made_ from Mom. They even both shared first kisses with vampires.

Now _that's_ freaky.

But I really, _really_ didn't need a comparison between the kissing styles of all the guys Mom's been with. She felt inclined to describe the characteristics that she liked and the ones she didn't. I didn't need to know that Mr. Finn slobbered a lot when tongue was involved (over-share!!), that Dad sucked just a little too hard. Very disturbing, the visuals that popped into my head.

At least she only talked about kissing.


	58. October 6, 2019 Part 2

A/N: A very short update. Another chapter will be up by today, promise!

October 6, 2019—Morning

Well, just about everybody's here, crammed downstairs into the living room. Mom's there, with Aunt Willow, Uncle Xander, Jesse (after incessant pleading), Aunt Dawn and Connor, Uncle Angel (who still desperately tries to forget what all those sounds he'd heard before were), Aunt Cordy, Uncle Rupert, and somehow even Mr. Wells. I don't know why or how, but he showed up after breakfast.

Aunt Fred and Uncle Gunn left for LA days ago, because they said that somebody needed to keep an eye on things there. And Aunt Anya was still kinda mad at Mom from punching her. I think she's in Sri Lanka. And I'm extremely glad that nobody called Mr. Finn.

I need to go downstairs and join them. But first I gotta see if Dad's still alive…or at least, no deader than usual…and get him some of his fave red beverage heated to 98.6° with little marshmallows. I think Mom kinda wore him out.

Not gonna ask or go into details.


	59. October 6, 2019 Part 3

October 6, 2019—Later

Yep, Dad's still alive. And apparently vamps are nowhere near as resilient as Slayers. Which is good to know, I guess…for fights and stuff! My stupid mind practically lives in the gutter.

Gotta go join Mom's discussion group now.

__

I tiptoed very quietly toward the living room, passing Mr. Wells sitting half-awake at the kitchen table.

"Hey, Angie," he said sleepily. "Uh, if I were you, I wouldn't want to go in there. Listening to Buffy's speeches always gives me headaches."

I gave him a look. Wanted to ask what he was smoking, then realized that I probably didn't want to know.

I stood at the entrance of the living room and listened to Mom talk. 

"—A dark cell, underground, most likely. I was kinda not wearing much when he opened up the ground and plucked me out of hell. And it being all nice and not warm, I didn't really mind all that much and let him chain me up. I think he was planning on doing some kinda spell. Didn't really pay much attention, though." Mom sounded cheerful, almost flippant.

Wait a minute. Mom really was in hell?! But she died to save the world! 

Oh, right. She'd jumped into the Hellmouth. Which was the gateway to hell. So of course she ended up down there. Hmm, that's beginning to make a strange sort of sense. 

Note to self: never jump in a Hellmouth.

"—I got really bored down there and um…wanted action…yeah, 'cause I don't like to just sit in a cell all day." I could swear she blushed. "So I broke out and kinda beat Ethan up."

"Is he still alive?" Aunt Willow asked.

Mom gave a sheepish smile. "Of course! It's just…he might have a hard time having kids."

Uncle Rupert chuckled, then pretended to cough.

"So do you know what the new baddies are?" Aunt Dawn asked.

Mom shook her head. "Not really, Dawnie. I haven't exactly been out and about since coming back."

A minor understatement.

"So did you get all the action you need?" Aunt Cordy asked rather matter-of-factly. I swear, she could be so like Aunt Anya at times. "'Cause it might be a good idea to actually start doing other things around here, rather than just screw all day. And night."

Mom suddenly bore a strong resemblance to a tomato. And one of Uncle Rupert's eyeglass lenses popped off due to excess cleaning.

Aunt Cordy suddenly emitted a high-pitched squeal and gave Uncle Angel a dirty look.

"Buddy, I swear, if you got permanent sewer-stain on my new shoes, you aren't getting any for a week."

Hmm. I guess the curse that Mom had been talking about was gone. Either that, or Aunt Cordy just wasn't trying hard enough.

Uncle Angel's facial expression grew from broody to…well, even more broody. A horizontal wrinkle popped into existence on his extremely broad and very-much-in-need-of-a-tan forehead.

"Ahem. Hello?" Mom waved her arms around comically, getting everyone's attention once again. "Any more questions to ask formerly thrice-dead gal?"

"Buffy, you shouldn't joke about such things," Uncle Rupert admonished, trying to pop the lens back in. He sighed, giving up. "It seems I ruin a perfectly good pair every time I come around here."

"The last pair you broke weren't from over-cleaning them," Aunt Dawn pointed out in defense of her sister, who was reverting to her previous state of crimson. "They fell off the kitchen counter when…when…" she trailed off. "Well, I guess you're right."

I think Mom wanted to crawl under the carpet. "Wills!" she whined. "Can I get out of here? They're being mean!"

I smiled when the group of adults laughed and began to go over old anecdotes. They were acting just like kids. I saw Jesse looking helplessly in my direction.

"Get me out of here," he mouthed silently. I rolled my eyes, slipping away unnoticed as a pillow fight broke out and pillows flew back and forth over Uncle Angel's head. He was, of course, still brooding, and took no notice whatsoever, not even when Mom "accidentally" bopped him in the head, miraculously managing to squash part of his hair. YES!

I turned back and gave Jesse a wide grin. "Yeah, right," I mouthed back.

Hmm. Such a nice Sunday. Whatever should I do?

__

Call JB. That was my first thought.

But what if he thought I was too clingy? And what if Mr. Osbourne answered? Or worse yet, Jordy?

Hmm. Maybe I should just head to the Bronze. And maybe rescue Jesse on the way downstairs.

__

I had barely gone out my door when I froze, seeing Mom halfway up the stairs. She had a deer-in-the-headlights look, too.

That didn't make any sense. I was the one planning to sneak off, after all. And then...

"Slayer, give me five minutes," a drowsy male voice mumbled from my parents' bedroom. "You gotta give a bloke some slack 'fore going 'nother few dozen rounds, luv."

Again, Mom turned bright red. "H-hey," she stammered in greeting with an apologetic little laugh. "Don't mind Spike, he's still half-asleep."

Uh huh. Whatever you say, Mommy dearest.

"So! Whatcha up to?" she chirped brightly.

I shrugged. Never been really that great of a liar. "I'm not sure."

"If I were you, I'd head down to the Bronze. Unless the Bronze got blown up? Or you got a hot date with what's-his-name? AB?"

Frantically, I motioned for her to quiet down, gesturing wildly towards the closed door.

Mom's eyebrows went up in a little "oh."

"Luv, who're you talking to out there? Is it…Angie? Angie, that you?"

Bad, very bad. Dad was sounding more awake every second.

"Gotta go," I whispered to Mom, practically tearing down the stairs. Only when I was safely out of the house did I dare take another breath.

Mom was pretty cool. A lot more lenient with the rules, too. As long as she learned the definition of "secret," my social life might have an actual chance at developing after all.


	60. October 8, 2019 Part 1

A/N: Wow, 60 chapters and 330+ reviews…. By the way, I finished one of my Compendiums! Take that, evil slave-driving teachers! And here's some more harmless fluff.

October 8, 2019—Morning

Guess what?! 

I got a DATE tonight. That's right, another real DATE! 

The scary thing is, it was Mom who answered the phone last night. Mom who took the cordless and crept to my room in a sheet.

Okay, that was un-called for. She handed me the phone, told me it was from JB, then gave me a mischievous smirk and said she needed to go keep the bed warm.

EVIL! My mother is EVIL!!! Ack! Those evil, evil ideas, evil, evil thoughts implanted in my head…

Sorry 'bout that. I'm just uber-excited. So excited that I couldn't write last night from all the excited excitement.

See, JB said that he might show at the Bronze tonight. So I'm all casual and everything, and I said that I might show, too. Then he said that if we both showed, we might see each other around maybe 8-ish. And then I said that I wasn't sure if I could make it then, when suddenly the noises from my parents' room stopped and I almost had a heart attack. But no, it's Mom, again (in a much more rumpled sheet), and she mouthed that she'll cover for me and to go have fun, just don't drink anything alcoholic and get back by 10.

10!! I didn't bother telling her that my curfew was at 6.

When the icky sounds started up again, I knew it was safe to talk. So I told JB all casual-like that I would probably make it then, and he said great. And then I said great, too. And then he said that his dad really liked me a lot and was wondering if he could swing by sometime to meet my parents.

That would be a no. Especially since my parents were currently stuck together like caramel apples.

Ooh, I gotta go wake up Mom now. She decided that she wants to get a job (actually, this was strongly suggested by a sleep-deprived Aunt Dawn), and that she wanted to come to school with me. She had a counseling job at the old high school when I was little, and supposedly another one before I was born. 

I don't _hear_ any sounds coming from the bedroom adjacent to mine. Maybe they're asleep. 

I sure hope so…

__

I knocked tentatively. No response. I pushed the door open just a crack.

Eek! Asleep, yes, but not completely covered. Luckily it was dark.

I quickly closed the door again. Knocked louder.

"Bollocks," a groggy voice mumbled.

I knocked harder. 

"Piss off already."

"It's me, your daughter," I said wryly. "Is Mom awake yet? We need to get going if she still wants to go to school with me today."

"Uh, wait a minute, will you, pet?" Sounds of movement and Mom's sleepy mumbling and whining came from the inside.

I waited a few moments. "Decent yet?"

The door opened. My father, wearing nothing but pants. Oh well. Better than nothing at all. Wait a minute…

I blinked. Stared, my mouth dropping open. No way. The giggles erupted.

Dad squinted at me, cocked his head. That only made it worse.

"What? Do I have somethin' on my face?"

I laughed harder and had to turn around to calm down.

"Don't you like my handiwork?" Mom chirped, joining us in PJ bottoms and a familiar-looking black T-shirt.

"Slayer, what did you do to me?" He looked around wildly, a look of sheer panic on his face. "Tell me!"

I pointed at his head, unable to form words. 

Dad immediately grasped his head. "I don't feel any of the Poof's hair-gel. Buffy, what did you do? At least tell me before Harris gets here."

Mom smiled brightly, ruffling Dad's newly bleached locks affectionately. "Now we match!"

Uncle Xander's here. And I must stop thinking about bleached hair, put down this diary, and get downstairs without bursting into more laughter. My tummy already hurts.

Poor Daddy. He's all growly and sulky and…dare I say broody? But Mom declares that she likes his hair better this way. So of course she snuck up sometime last night when he was asleep and decided to have her way with it.

And the strange thing is, Mom swears that the peroxide look is much more natural.


	61. October 8, 2019 Part 2

A/N: A short update. Lady Macbeth, cookies for you! Yep, people have been very out-of-character lately, that's for sure. *And the plot thickens...* And they might continue to be out-of-character for a while.

October 8, 2019—1st Period

Walking with Mom through the halls toward the principal's office was slightly awkward, if not completely strange. She randomly whispered comments about what people were wearing, not seeming to notice all the stares we were getting. I don't think she likes studded baseball caps very much.

Maybe I should consider plastic surgery so that my mother does not look like a slightly older, shorter, and _way_ too energetic version of myself. I guess she's so happy because of all the…well, happies.

But her being happy is good. She gave me a peck on the cheek as we rounded the corner. For good luck, she'd said. That didn't really make any sense, but she was all smiles and I didn't want to rain on her parade.

__

The door. The door to the office that I told myself I'd never set foot in again.

Mom stared at the nameplate on it, her happy smile fading for a moment. "Wood? Robin Wood is the principal?" For a moment she sounded…different. Then the smile was back and she knocked on the wooden door without waiting for a reply.

When it opened, she gave the principal yet another dazzling grin. "Hey, Principal Wood! Ya might've fired me once, but I'm back!"

He took a step back. Then another step. And then some more steps as Mom charged in after him.

"B-buffy? But—"

She nodded cheerfully, cutting him off. "Yeah, that's me! Buffy." Then the smile melted and she pouted. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

That's when the warning bell rang and I decided to try and make it to class, leaving my mother with the principal. A very confused and possibly terrified principal.

Hmm. JB's looking cute today. But then again, he always looks cute.

My cheek's starting to itch from where Mom kissed me this morning. Funny how it felt perfectly all right before. I wonder if I'm allergic to saliva or something. But no, of course not. Then I would've gotten an icky rash after kissing JB. Maybe I'm breaking out there or something…

I dunno. That's not important. I've got a date tonight, I've got a date tonight, I've got a date tonight…

Oopsies, the substitute teacher's yelling at me again for not paying attention. Maybe I should stop writ—


	62. October 8, 2019 Part 3

A/N: I happened to catch the past few _Angel_ episodes. Thus came this strange little idea. Gotta admit though, at first it was just post-mortem giddiness. And then I was like, "Hmm…what if…?" 

October 8, 2019—Lunch

I'm happy. Everything's so great right now, and I can't express that enough. 

I don't know what's wrong with Jesse. Somehow, I don't think he's all that happy. And he keeps on complaining about everything. What's there to complain about?

Oh, one almost-sad thing happened. And I don't think I have a date for tonight anymore.

JB's sweet doggie died today. This morning, Leena was run over by a car or something. I tried to be sad, because I knew it was what I should do to make JB feel better, but come on! Life is full of too many happy things to be sad.

I don't think JB understood. He's just like Jesse. He even asked me if I was feeling all right. Of course I was! It was such a beautiful day, and besides, everything was perfect.

And I was all for our now-customary kiss after 1st period, but JB just looked at me funny. And then he said that we should maybe take a little break. 

And when Jesse asked me what happened and I explained it to him, he started yelling and waving his arms about. I think he was upset or something.

And I don't like loud noises. So I left him, still somewhat upset, and went off to find Mommy. Because she could always kiss and make it better. 

JB and Jesse—they're ruining my happy day.


	63. October 8, 2019 Part 4

A/N: Sorry, folks. This is completely Jasmine-free. J 

October 8, 2019—After School

Mommy and I walked home. It was too nice of a day to wait for Uncle Xander. 

The bad thing is that Mommy didn't get the job she wanted. Principal Wood was being mean. So we were gonna watch movies with Aunt Dawnie and eat popcorn and ice cream.

Aunt Dawnie's not home. Why's Aunt Dawnie not home?

Since she wasn't here, Mommy and I watched movies all alone. I think Mommy wanted to go play with Daddy again, but he's acting all weird and broody and won't come out of his room. Kinda like Uncle Angel when Mommy hid his hair gel last time. He wore too much icky gel, so Mommy gave him a good-bye kiss and told him to go away. 

I don't think Aunt Cordy liked that. She gets awfully possessive sometimes.

Oh well. We're going to watch _The Little Mermaid_, my all-time favorite Disney classic, next, so I better get some popcorn ready.

__

Ooh, the popcorn looks really nice in the microwave. The bag swirls around and around and around…

Ding-DONG! Ding-DONG!

"Somebody get the door," Mommy yelled. She was loading the shiny movie disc in the living room. "Spikey, get the door!"

Daddy didn't answer. 

Ding-DONG! Ding-DONG!

I heard Mommy sigh. Then I guess she went to get it, because the next thing I knew, Uncle Xander was yelling and Jesse was yelling. 

"Buffy, what the hell's going on?"

Ooh! The popcorn was done. And hot, so I should be careful.

"Why are you watching The Little Mermaid_?" Jesse added. Stupid boy with cooties._

"What are you doing in my house?" Mommy demanded. "'Cause it's my house, did you know that?" I munched on the hot popcorn and joined her.

"Want some?" I asked. Nicely. Even if Jesse was cootie-ridden and nasty.

Uncle Xander had a funny expression on his face. He looked at me, then Mommy, then the muted opening scenes of The Little Mermaid_._

"Buff, Angie, there's something seriously not right here."

Huh? We were perfectly happy, until they showed up and disrupted our movie-thon. 

"Dad, that's what I've been telling you," Jesse said, sounding exasperated. "Angie was acting strange the whole day."

"Was not," I pouted.

"Was too," he countered. 

"Was not."

"Was—hey, what am I doing? See, Dad? She's all…immature."

"My daughter's not immature," Mommy said defiantly. Then she put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue.

I giggled.

Uncle Xander's funny expression was getting funnier by the second. "Wait a minute. Where's Spike? You two didn't happen to…oh, I don't know, set him on fire or something, did you? Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just wished you'd waited for me to get here first."

Mommy pouted. "Spikey won't play. He's being all broody like Annnngel."

"I think it's because you bleached his hair, Mommy," I suggested.

That sent Mommy and me into another burst of helpless giggles. And even made Uncle Xander crack a smile. Maybe there was some hope for him yet.

"Man, I wish I had a camera—wait. You what_? Why?"_

"It looks better," Mommy said with a shrug. "More natural."

Uncle Xander shook his head. "Right." He frowned. "No, seriously. Where's the newly Re-bleached Wonder?

"Brooding upstairs. I swear, he's turning into Poofy Angel," Mommy pouted. "Won't come down and play—hey, where are you going?"

Uncle Xander was already going up the stairs, never bothering to take off his muddy shoes, of course. Heh, funny how I never noticed that before.

"Going to find somebody sane."

I think he was making another one of his un-funny jokes.

"Wanna watch The Little Mermaid_ with us?" Mommy asked Jesse._

I don't like Uncle Xander. He won't let Mommy or me out of the living room, and we've already watched all the movies there. And I've seen this cartoon before, with the black kitty and the annoying birdie. 

I wanna go outside and play in the sun! Ooh, I have a kite, and it's very pretty. Maybe I could fly it?

But Uncle Xander's a big meanie and he's making phone calls in the kitchen. And Jesse's looking all nervous because Uncle Xander said he has to watch us. Dunno why. Mommy said she wants to kiss Daddy again, because that always makes her feel better. Eww! But Daddy's still broody and won't talk to anybody, not even Uncle Xander. And I think he's in the basement now.

Uncle Xander says that we're all crazy. I don't think I'm crazy. And he's saying that right now on the phone, 'cause he thinks we can't hear him. But I can hear him! I hope Mommy's proud of me.

__

"—Completely loony. I've got Buffy and Angie watching cartoons in the living room. And the newly re-dubbed Captain Peroxide's giving Dead-boy a run for his money. Not just broody, more like…the great-granddaddy of broody."

A pause. I couldn't hear the people on the other line.

"No, I'm not exaggerating. There's something seriously wrong in that house. Wait a minute—Dawn, too? Yeah, pick her up, bring her in."

Another pause.

"No, take your time. I've got a suicidal vampire tied up in the basement and two demented five-year-olds watching TV. Take your time, please."

Another pause. 

"Okay, I'll call G-man. Love you too, honey. Bye."

Click.

Hmph. I wanna go outside.


	64. October 9, 2019 Part 1

A/N: In case there's any confusion, Buffy and Angie are _not_ 5-year-olds. That would be even more confusing than it already is. J That was just Xander being sarcastic. 

And since this is from Angie's point of view, the chapter is slightly weird and doesn't make much sense. Don't take everything at face value. And lastly, no posts tomorrow. Sorry!

October 9, 2019—Morning

__

The man was laughing, the same old man I had seen before. Only now he sported a black eye and one arm was in a cast as he sprinkled stuff into a…beaker? Yep, it was a beaker, like the ones we sometimes used in biology.

Eww, we put frog eyes in a beaker once. And then Jesse put one in my lab book and I didn't know until I got home.

Annoying boy with cooties.

Back to the man. He was saying something, maybe in another language. I don't think it was French, 'cause it sounded different from how Mlle Madison usually talks.

And then he pulled out a bag and opened it up. I felt something that had been totally absent for the past day suddenly bubble up.

Alien emotions. Dread. Fear. Revulsion.

And then he pulled out a…

I got woken up by Aunt Willow. She said that I don't have to go to school today.

Aunt Willow didn't let me go patrolling last night. That's not fair, 'cause I'm the Slayer. I'm supposed to make sure bad things don't eat people at night.

But at least Aunt Dawnie's here. She wanted to play dolls, but I don't have any. Times like these are when I miss Miss Edith. I wonder where she is right now.

I heard Aunt Willow say to Uncle Rupert that we're all under a spell of some sort. She said that she doesn't know why its effects are so different on Daddy, but she's positive that it's the same spell. 'Cause she did some weird spell-thingie on us last night, and the air was glowing red.

I'm bored. Maybe Daddy will tell me a story?

__

Daddy was all tied up. He looked funny, with his hair sticking up all over the place and a bright, sunny yellow.

"Daddy, Daddy, tell me a story!"

He didn't even look at me. 

"Daddy, c'mon. I wanna hear a story!" I tugged on his sleeve. He still wouldn't look at me. So I walked all the way around the chair and stared down at him.

Blank, that's how Daddy looked. Completely and totally blank. More blank than a store mannequin. 

"Daddy?"

No response at all. I waved my hand in front of his face.

Nothing. I clapped my hands. 

Didn't even blink. I stared into his eyes. 

As blank as a cloudless sky.

Huh. Daddy was boring. 

I'll go see what's on the TV.

Those stupid cartoons again. I don't like Tom and Jerry anymore. All Tom ever does is try to eat Jerry. But the poor kitty never manages to, and on the rare occasions that he thinks he killed the little mouse, he gets all upset.

But isn't that what he wanted in the first place?

The phone's ringing! The phone's ringing! I wanna go answer the phone—

Darn. Aunt Willow got to it first.

__

"Hello?"

Pause. Tom was lighting a firecracker.

"Oh, I'm really sorry. Now's not a good time…Angie? She's fine. Um, she has a…a cold. Yeah, a cold. But she'll be fine. Although I'm not sure that she'll be in tomorrow."

Another pause. He threw said firecracker into the mouse hole. 

"Well, I'll tell her you called. And I'm sorry about your dog. Yeah, Angie told me about her…what? Yes, I'm her Aunt Willow…your father_ wants to speak to me?"_

Another pause. Jerry threw it back out. And of course Tom didn't notice it was right under his furry blue butt as he stuck his fingers in his ears and closed his eyes.

"Okay, what's going on? Who is this?"

A short pause. BOOM!

"Oz?"

A long pause. Hmm. Tom wasn't dead, even though the firecracker had blown up in a big explosion of fire and smoke. Although he was now gray and covered with soot and fur was missing from his butt. And when did he get his bottom all bandaged up?

"Oh my goddess. It really is you!" Aunt Willow's face broke into a wide smile. "It's been so long! Yeah, uh, so, you're married now, huh? How's that working…oh, so you're not_ married? Ah. But I am. I'm totally un-single, Mister, so you better…actually, this really is kinda a bad time."_

A pause. Another_ firecracker? You've gotta be kidding me, Mr. Kitty! You know that'll never work!_

"No, no that's fine. But I gotta warn ya, things are a little strange right now. A spell of some sort—not my fault, by the way…yeah, maybe say 6-ish? Buffy's house."

A brief pause. The matches, huh? Jerry, those are dangerous! Rule # 5: never play with matches or lighters.

"Oh, she's alive…well, actually, newly resurrected. Again. But not exactly…well, maybe I should wait for you to get here first—oh, hold on a sec, okay? I've got another call."

Click.

"Hello?"

A pause. Poor Tommy is yowl-ing in pain. Again.

"Cordy? What's wrong? Calm down, take a deep breath, and start again, slowly."

A longer pause. Ooh, a cardboard airplane! Light bulbs and…a banana? Don't hit the poor kitty, Jerry!

"Not again! I thought I told you guys to call me first before_ you get rid of his soul…wait a minute, the curse? As in, the Gypsy curse? It's still working? Then how come…uh, how come, um, you know…"_

A pause. Abandon plane! Hey, that's a funny-looking parachute. It looks kinda like one of those things that's always hanging from the ceiling light in my mommy and daddy's room. Next to Mommy's underwear.

"Oh goody, more charms and potions. Well, what made it go off this time?"

A long pause. Don't fall for the mousetrap thing again, Jerry. Plus, do mice really like cheese that much? 'Cause my French teacher says that that's a common misconception. Mice and rats will eat cheese, of course. But she says it gets disgusting after eating it all the time. I don't see how Jerry could stand eating nothing but cheese his entire life.

"Uh oh. That doesn't sound too good. But I can't really get down there right now, 'cause…wait! I think I know what's going on! It's probably the same thing that's being going around here at 1630 Revello. Yeah…really happy, right? Hmm. That's weird. With Spike it kinda went the opposite way…"

A really, really long pause. I turned the TV off. Mommy was braiding Aunt Dawnie's hair, and Uncle Rupert, who was supposed_ to be watching us, was falling asleep in his chair. And his glasses were on the table next to him. Hmm…_

"Okay, drive over here as soon as possible. 'K. Bye."

Click.

"Sorry about that…huh? Oh, it was Cordy. She's coming over."

A short hesitation. Ooh, everything was so blurry. I stifled a giggle. 

"Yeah, can you believe it? Just like an old Scooby convention. Giles even has all the books right here."

A pause. Mommy was pointing at me and giggling silently. Aunt Dawnie noticed my new attire, joining Mommy in quiet peals of laughter. 

"Oh, no, it'll be fine. Nothing big. Come over, it'll be like old times. I'll tell Xander to get the donuts."

Another pause. I stood shakily, Slayer balance not helping at all. I tried to walk around and tripped. The glasses went flying.

"Okay, see you at 6. Bye!"

Click.

Aunt Willow walked back into the room and noticed our barely muffled laughter. Uncle Rupert still dozed in his chair. "What are you guys up to now?"

She took a step forward. Heeled boots.

Crunch. 

Oops. Heh.

Uncle Rupert started awake. "Oh, sorry. I must have dozed off for a moment." He squinted at the small side table. "Er, has anyone seen my glasses?"


	65. October 9, 2019 Part 2

A/N: _Extremely_ busy!! I've got papers due and an overabundance of Chem homework. Promise to update ASAP!

October 9, 2019—Afternoon

Aunt Willow did something. I'm not sure what, and it doesn't seem to have worked on Mom. And the effects, hypothetically, are only temporary. Only until Aunt Willow figures out…whatever she's supposed to figure out. 

And I don't know _what_ happened. Not exactly.

They said there was some type of spell.

I remember some of it, flashes of cartoons and, oddly enough, glasses on my nose. Hmm.

Aunt Dawn is similarly disoriented. And Aunt Cordy is hyperventilating in the kitchen right now, occasionally yelling very shrilly. Maybe I'd know what she was so worked up over if my ears weren't ringing half the time.

And when did she get here, anyway? I thought she was with Uncle Angel in LA.

Aunt Willow's a little busy to explain. Apparently we—Mom, Dad, Aunt Dawn, and me—were under some sort of spell. Probably the work of that Rayne guy that brought Mom back in the first place. Mom is still under the influence, and Aunt Dawn and I aren't supposed to get close to her—fear of contagion, perhaps?—, so we don't know what's wrong. Uncle Xander swears it's nothing serious, but I don't know.

Things can always turn bad at a moment's notice. Especially in this house.

Anyway, I really have to go. Aunt Willow says I have to run down to the Magic Box (Technically Aunt Anya's store that is currently being run by this creepy-looking middle-aged guy who insists upon being called 'Michael.') and get her a bunch of ingredients. She has most of them, but still needs some eyeballs (some type of lizard) and a ball or globe or something. I've got it written on a note in my pocket.

Gotta run now. I hope Aunt Willow explains what the mojo is for when I get back. I didn't really ask too many questions because she was sort of in a hurry.

And black eyes? Not attractive.


	66. October 9, 2019 Part 3

A/N: Re-posted! I had no idea that FF.net didn't accept HTML. After trying many formats, here's the only one that works.

October 9, 2019—Later

Bad, bad, bad. This is all very, very bad.

If I get my hands on Ethan Rayne, he's going to wish Mom had killed him.

First of all, apparently the spell was originally put on Mom. And she somehow passed it to everybody who was affected. How? Not sure yet.

But the effects are bad.

Aunt Dawn and I are somewhat back to normal—as long as we continue to ingest a slimy potion that smells like the container of blood Aunt Dawn once found in the back of the garage (way past expiration date, with many things living in the sticky gunk)—, but other people aren't so lucky. Dad currently resembles "a nice bunch of carrots," as Uncle Xander so deftly put it. It's like he's not even in there. And Mom is still way too hyper and giddy. Still bouncing around, begging to be let loose upon the world. 

And as if that's not bad enough…

Aunt Cordy's helping Aunt Willow re-en-soul Uncle Angel. Again. For the 4th time this afternoon. We don't even know where he is and what he's doing. All we know is that he's always extremely happy, which makes him lose his soul immediately every time it's given back.

Aunt Willow has surmised that Mom has to be cured for the effects to wear off.

I said I wanted to help in any way, shape, or form. So, aside from the frequent runs to the Magic Box, I get to make a nice list of infect-ees. Here's a copy of what we have so far, supplemented quarterly by yours truly:

People Infected (In Order of Infection)/Relationship to Buffy, Special Characteristics/Possible Reason(s) for Infection/Current Status: 

Buffy (Root) –Slayer; Died (3x); Currently Alive/Spell; Side Effect of Resurrection/Infected; Hyperactive, Happy, Childish 

Spike -Husband of Buffy; (Un)Dead/Live with Buffy; _Lots_ of Recent Contact/Infected: Catatonic

Angel -Old (Boy)Friend of Buffy; (Un)Dead/Unknown/Infected: Soulless & Happy

Dawn -Sister of Buffy; (Ex)Mystical Key/Live with Buffy; Blood Relation/Infected: Stasis

Angie -Daughter of Buffy; Current Slayer/Live wth Buffy; Blood Relation/Infected: Stasis

That's only what we know so far. Maybe there are other people out there that are infected by Mom, too. Maybe Uncle Angel is infecting other people even as I write. Maybe Aunt Dawn infected people at work yesterday. And maybe I infected a whole bunch of people at school. 

Waiting for Aunt Willow to try all her tricks and for Uncle Giles and Uncle Xander to research and make long-distance calls to every corner of the planet sucks.

__

"Pssst. Over here, my lamb."

I jerked up, apparently having fallen asleep. When did that happen?

"My sweet little lamb."

Huh? I turned and stared at the figure that was standing in the middle of my bedroom.

First of all, how'd she get here? Who would have invited Drusilla_ in?_

Okay, Mom in her present condition might have. But what about everybody downstairs? 

Unless she took them by surprise and overwhelmed them. Did she have lackeys? I should've been able to sense them coming. Wait a minute. Even now…

"Don't think such riddles, sweets. Daddy is coming, and all good little Slayers must prepare for the feast."

And she says I_'m the one who thinks in riddles. Puh-lease._

"It's been too long since I've been with my bad daddy," she continued to whisper. "And it's all thanks to the naughty Slayer."

Did Dru know what was going on? 

"What did my mother do?" I demanded. 

Drusilla giggled, her eyes widening till her expression was unquestionably insane. "Naughty, bad, dirty_ Slayer." She was no longer laughing. "Touched my white knight, touched my little boy. Cut him open like a beating, bleeding heart and tore his insides out. That's what the Slayer did, emptied my boy like a bag of yummy treats." By the end of her little tirade, Drusilla's eyeballs were literally bulging from her sockets and her hands were formed into claws. Shaking with barely suppressed rage._

Okay. Just slightly psychotic there.

She noticed me slowly backing away, I guess, and blinked, her expression changing. No longer psychotic. 

"How are you, sweet lamb?" she asked with a gentle smile. "My Angel is coming."

"I think you've covered that part already."

She laughed, but it wasn't insane like her giggles before. Rather a sad laughter, sad and resigned.

"I'm sorry. You must excuse my behavior. At times…well…never mind. I don't have much time, and you need to know what to do."

Her whole demeanor was different, even down to her speech. Wide gray eyes suddenly looked gentle and innocent.

"The warlock hides where the pine trees once lived and died. He's there even now, and shall stay till his job be done. And it is almost complete."

"Warlock? Ethan Rayne? He's where?" It didn't make any sense, but she didn't pause to explain.

"Do hurry, little lamb. My boy is fading to dust."

"What?"

Too late. She changed yet again, and the lucid light faded from her now-cold eyes.

"The stars know where he is," she sang out. "Ooh, it's all shiny and sharp, like a wicked shark tooth. The stars want to send their light upon it." She turned big pleading eyes on me. "Won't you let their white light shine down, little lamb? Hmm?"

And that's when I woke up, alone in my room. No Drusilla.

I'm guessing this was another prophetic dream, part of the Slayer package. Although why my messages seem to filter through an insane vampire, I don't rightly know.

I gotta go tell Aunt Willow the stuff I learned. But I don't even understand half the things Drusilla said.

Maybe someone else will?


	67. October 9, 2019 Part 4

A/N: Slight spoilers for final episodes of S7. 

October 9, 2019—Even Later

Uncle Rupert has a hunch and we're going down to what used to be a Christmas tree lot.

I wonder if we'll get a tree this year. And I wonder if we'll ever put the pretty angel that Aunt Dawn bought a few years ago on top. 'Cause it's all shiny and pretty and has a halo—

That's better. Blegh. Had a momentary relapse and downed more of the disgusting gunk of a potion. Much better.

Can't write now; Uncle Rupert is honking his car horn. And I gotta go pop in a breath mint.

__

"This is it?" 

A blank expanse of barren land. Shrubs and weeds grew on the field, but not much else. Completely empty. 

And here we were, Uncle Rupert and I, standing at the edge of all this blankness. Standing and armed with lots of nice, shiny weapons. Well, at least Uncle Rupert was carrying the weapons. Maybe I shouldn't have acted so very eager to grab the shiny and very sharp implements. So all I had was a stake in my pocket.

"The caves of the First," he replied, gazing into the distance. His eyes hardened behind recently replaced glasses. "And Ethan's there, according to this dream of yours?"

"Yep. 'The warlock hides where the pine trees once lived and died.' That's what she said. Didn't Aunt Willow tell you?"

"Wait a minute. 'She?' Who appeared to you?"

"Um…don't take this the wrong way, and please don't freak, Uncle Rupert."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who?"

"Drusilla?"

"What?!"

"Well, she's always in my so-called prophetic dreams," I said defensively. Was it that_ much of a shock? "And what's wrong with Drusilla? She never tried to kill me…exactly. Not really."_

Uncle Rupert was cleaning his glasses again, rubbing the lens furiously with a handkerchief that he always seemed to carry in his pocket.

"Angie, Drusilla is a very dangerous vampire. She's…well, she's insane, for one. Which makes her extremely unpredictable and only more dangerous. You mustn't—"

"What, I can't listen to her? When everything she's told me before turned out to be true?"

Uncle Rupert sighed. "I was going to say, you mustn't underestimate the true Drusilla when and if you come face-to-face with her. This-this dream representation of her is just that—a representation. Just the way your subconscious chooses to relay information to your conscious mind. Nothing more. Do not believe that she is who she appears to be in your dreams."

"Oh." So that's_ what he meant. "Well, where are the caves? There's no mountains or even hills around here."_

"They're underground."

I raised an eyebrow. Underground, huh? "And where's the entrance? 'Cause all I'm seeing a is whole lot of dirt and dead plants."

Uncle Rupert frowned and began walking, gazing both at the ground and around the dead shrubbery. With nothing better to do, I followed. But just what was he looking for? Whatever it was, he'd better find it fast. Things weren't looking good back on the home front.

"It's somewhere around here." 

"Right. Uncle Rupert, you sure—Ahhhh!"

Thump.

"Ow." 

I scrambled to my feet, glaring up through the torn "ceiling" of the cave we were looking for. Uncle Rupert's sheepish face peered down at me.

"Angie, are you all right? I knew it was around here somewhere."

"Thanks for the warning," I said dryly. "It's kinda drafty down here. Hey, can you throw me a sword or something?"

"Watch your head."

Clank. I moved away just in time to avoid getting impaled.

"Got it! So what should I do?" I felt edgy and hyped up, ready to release some energy. Nervous and jittery, liable to impale the first thing I saw move in the relative darkness. 

Was that something moving? No, just shadows cast by Uncle Rupert from above.

An exasperated sigh came from above. "Find Ethan and drag his unconscious body up for me to take care of."

"Now, now, Ripper. Let's not be hasty."

The voice had come from very close to my ear. Yelping, I jumped away.

FWOOSH.

"Angie, that's Ethan!" Uncle Rupert was shouting directions from above now, but they seemed to fade into the background.

I blinked. There were torches lining the cave. And they had all simultaneously ignited, casting an uncanny reddish light over the scene. Nice parlor trick.

And the torchlight also illuminated the old man from my dreams, standing eerily still, with a manic grin on his face. And what looked a lot like blood streaked in patterns on his face. And what was that he was holding?

…It's all shiny and sharp, like a wicked shark tooth…

__

Shiny and sharp it was. Curved and hard, gleaming red in the light.

…The stars want to send their light upon it…

__

It wasn't dark out yet. Had she meant that I should wait till dark? Wait for the stars to come out?

__

"…Angie…"

Uncle Rupert was still calling out directions from above. But I already knew what to do, right?

I lunged at him, sword extended, full Slayer speed ahead.

He easily evaded, swept me back with one swing of his weapon. I swung my sword up to block his attack…only to have the blade cleaved into two. Both halves of my sword dropped.

Only Slayer reflexes saved me from getting flayed by a very sharp piece of metal.

The man laughed, a deep, guttural sound. "You can't win, dear."

I rolled out of the way of another swipe. "And why not?"

We were moving deeper and deeper into the caves, away from the opening. Away from Uncle Rupert's frantic calls. And I was getting a bad feeling.

"Silly girl." 

I ducked again, then used the slippery walls for leverage and kicked him in the nuts as hard as I could.

The man didn't even pause.

"I've got the power."

Huh? Power? Did he mean the shiny curved weapon?

Ow! I moved too slowly, or maybe he moved too fast. My shoulder blade stung, felt like it was on fire. The pain blinded me for a moment.

But what accounted for the tingles that I was suddenly feeling? 

No matter. It was too late now; I could see the bright gleam of metal as it arced toward my head.

"That's really great, Grandpa," a new voice called out from the darkness. A familiar voice. "You double-crossing old scumbag."

Thump.

Ethan Rayne sailed across the room, his cherished scythe landing yards away. I rolled to grab it before the other person in the room could, ignoring the scream of muscles in my shoulder.

Crap! She got it first. And she held it in her hands, turning it over in the torchlight, staring at the curved blade.

Moments before she swung it without warning. Warm blood sprayed across my face.

The old man's head rolled to a stop inches from my face, his eyes still open. I bit back a shriek.

"I mean honestly," she continued, as if nothing had happened. "He thought he could get away with knocking me out and taking my blood?" She shook her head, turning golden eyes on me. "And to think, he tied me up with rope. Rope! I'd say he was asking' for it, wouldn't you, honey?"

My heart pounded, the thumps ringing loudly in my ears. Swallowing hard, I tried to scoot closer to the cold and slimy wall, clamping a hand onto my shoulder and shutting out its loud protests.

"My, my, all that blood. I was going to save you for later, Angie, but seeing as how things are…. Y'know, I wanted to be all cool and ask you to say hi to B for me, but seeing as how she's not dead anymore…"

She shrugged, tossing the scythe away. "Oh well." And grinned, revealing very sharp teeth.

I giggled, vaguely aware that I needed another dose of Aunt Willow's potion.

"Aunt Faith, what big teeth you have."

She frowned, jerking me up by my injured shoulder. "Did you hit your head back there, kiddo?"

"Ow," I yelped. "That hurts!"

"Oh yeah? This'll hurt a hell of a lot more."

Sharp, cold teeth sank into my neck. And retracted barely a second later. Aunt Faith gagged, spitting up red stuff, like when Uncle Xander took the wrong container out of the fridge. He hasn't drunk cranberry juice since.

"What's wrong with you?" she cried, glaring at me with now-brown eyes.

"My shoulder hurts," I pouted. "And I need to drink Aunt Willow's potion."

She stared at me incredulously. 

"You're under Ethan's spell!" she concluded finally.

I nodded. Now my neck throbbed, too. Thanks a lot, Aunt Faith. I'll be sure to tell Mommy on you.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered, picking up the scythe. And she snapped it over her knee. "Now_ can I have a decent meal?"_

The pain in my shoulder almost immediately disappeared. Aunt Faith's eyes were yellow again, and she looked really, really hungry.

My fingers touched hard wood.

"Thanks to you, I'm all better now, Aunt Faith!" I said cheerfully, moving out of her way.

She growled, doubling back for another attack. This time I didn't step away and ended up pinned to the wall by my neck.

"Sorry," I choked out. Poor Aunt Faith. But I'm a Slayer. A girl who slays vampires.

"For what? You're the one who's about to become—"

Aunt Faith stared at the wooden handle protruding from her chest. Her face shifted back into her human guise.

"Oh, fu—"

Dusted.

I dropped to the ground and massaged my neck. That hurt, Aunt Faith.

"Angela!"

Uncle Rupert's voice was very distant. I wanted to run to him, so that he could drive me back home. All I wanted to a nice cup of hot chocolate and a bedtime story. But I needed to finish it first.

I gathered the two pieces of scythe in my good arm (the other one still hurt a little) and walked to the direction of Uncle Rupert's voice.

"Angie! Angela!"

There! I could see where the hole in the ceiling was now. And it was already dark out. The pretty stars…

I placed the pieces of scythe on the ground, in a little patch of bright starlight. They glowed…

The pieces glimmered in the pale, evanescent light. Then there was a bright flash, and only empty stone lay where the broken scythe had been. The torches had extinguished some time ago. 

And my head was clear again.

"Angie! Where are you?!"

"I'm coming," I whispered, tearing my eyes away form the bare ground. "I'm coming, Uncle Rupert."


	68. October 10, 2019 Part 1

A/N: "My Screwy Family" is coming to a close. Two or three more chappies and it's going to be finished. Thanks for all the reviews!

October 10, 2019

It's Thursday, my favorite day of the week. It's the day before Friday, before a whole weekend of R&R. And then the process repeats on Monday, with the start of school. And everything erupts on Tuesday, when everything bad seems to happen.

I did it. I broke the spell when Rayne's broken weapon—power source and talisman all in one—was put into the moonlight, when the blood that had bound it to him had dried and turned to dust.

Aunt Faith's blood.

Aunt Willow had a whole explanation for it when I told her the tale. Something about the weapon being activated by Slayer blood, which Aunt Faith had been duped into providing. She was probably working for him from the beginning, although Aunt Willow doubted she knew what he was trying to do.

Guess we'll never know, either. The warlock's ultimate goal will be buried with his body somewhere in the recesses of that cave.

Ethan Rayne had smeared Aunt Faith's blood onto himself, to give him power over the weapon. And with it, he couldn't be defeated.

Except by the unwilling donor of the blood, of course. Aunt Faith was the only one who could have killed him. And she did. She killed him.

She would have killed me, too. But being under the spell, which had apparently been spread by Mom's saliva (which is extremely disgusting to think of), my blood tasted funny. So she had tried to break it by breaking the scythe itself, which halfway worked. 

It worked enough for me to finish the job. 

Aunt Faith did it because she was greedy for my blood, because she wanted the taste of Slayer blood in her mouth. Is that sick or what? I wish I could say that she helped to break the spell because there was a part of her in there that was still the Aunt Faith I loved, that she cared, deep down inside. 

But that's not the reality.

Anyway, enough of the philosophical analysis. 

Everybody's all better. Aunt Willow performed a final soul restoration for Uncle Angel, and he showed up last night. Only thing is, he won't tell anyone where he was. I hope he didn't kill anybody, but that would be asking for too much, wouldn't it? Imagine Angelus loose for a whole day and _not_ killing people. 

Drusilla had said something, something about Uncle Angel. About her daddy being back. About how I should get ready. I don't think it came to pass, not the whole thing. And I don't want to know what might've happened if Angelus had reached the house before the spell had been broken.

Dad is somewhat back to his jolly old self. Talking, joking, occasionally disappearing with Mom for hours at a time. But always coming back out for air every once in a while. Only thing wrong was the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on his skin during the catatonia. Maybe it was because no one had bothered to vacuum for a week and it was just getting really dusty in the house.

But back to Dru's cryptic ramblings. Dad wouldn't have _really_ dusted…right? I mean…

And Mom's no longer happy. Sure, she's glad to be alive and no longer in hell, but she's just not all that…happy…anymore. She seems burdened, like there's always a shadow hovering over her that just won't dissipate. And occasionally she spaces out and the expression on her face is just so…sad.

Aunt Willow says it's a part of being an adult.

Boy, am I glad that I'm still nowhere near grown-up.


	69. October 10, 2019 Part 2

A/N: I definitely will be doing a sequel sometime, but I don't have anything planned for Angie & friends in the near future. Meanwhile, I'm starting a new BtVS fic called "Past, Present, Future" which contains MAJOR spoilers for the season finale.

Only an epilogue left.

October 10, 2019—Later

I don't have many sheets left in this little bound book. I guess this chapter of my life is coming to a close, so I better sum up what I can. 

First of all, I just need to get this out of my system: JB and I are back together! 

By the way, Mr. Osbourne—who insists on being called Oz, I might add—showed up last night. With a large bag of animal crackers, as strange as it may sound. For dinner.

Aunt Willow took all the monkeys. Dunno why.

But at least Dad was the one cooking, which meant there was no need to get takeout or sneak calls to Pizza Hut. The adults talked and told funny anecdotes. We had a nice, almost-normal dinner, interrupted only by Uncle Angel barging in and heading directly for the liquor cabinet. 

And the best thing has gotta be Aunt Dawn and Connor's sudden announcement during dessert. 

Oh, _yeah_. Guess who's _finally_ getting married?

Aunt Dawn's excuse was that she wanted to actually get some sleep. And then she looked absolutely mortified when she realized how that came out.

All in all, not too bad of a day. Until Aunt Anya popped in after dinner and started telling us all about her recent adventures in Sri Lanka. That's when Uncle Giles broke another pair of glasses with frantic over-cleaning and I reconsidered eating dinner.

Then Mr. Osb—sorry, Uncle Oz—tried to change the topic and brought up JB and me going out. I guess 'cause he assumed that everyone knew about it. That was when I shot frantic looks at Mom and she got the hint and quickly and efficiently distracted Dad from the conversation. That instigated a quick disappearance upstairs. But they came down in time to see everybody off, so at least that's better than before, right?

__

Anyway…

Back to today. I apologized for any random behavior I might have exhibited under the influence of the spell, and JB was totally sweet about it. He even asked me to the Halloween dance!

And Mom said I could go, because Halloween's supposed to be when nothing ever happens. Ironic, but apparently true.

I wonder what I should go as—

__

I quickly put down my pen, feeling a sudden tingle shoot up my spine. It disappeared as quickly as it came.

My spider sense said that whatever it was, it came from outside my window.

Cautiously, very cautiously, I opened the blinds and peered out. Nothing moving. Nothing threatening. And then my gaze trailed down. 

She sat on the small ledge directly outside my window, golden daffodils and a folded piece of paper on her little lap. 

I raised the sash and scooped her up into my arms.

There she is, staring at me from the bed. As ivory white and delicate as ever. She hasn't changed a bit since I last saw her, except for her dress. It was now a soft purple silk gown, edged with bits of time-yellowed lace. A little too old-fashioned for my tastes, but hey.

I opened the note.

__

Take good care of Miss Edith. 

Mummy will be back soon, little lamb.

Very interesting. 

Don't worry, Dru. I'll take good care of her.


	70. October 15, 2019 Epilogue

A/N: "My Screwy Family" is officially complete, at long last! Wow, 70 chapters and oh so many reviews…*sniff*…

Thanks for the loyal reviews, flames, and constructive criticism!

October 15, 2019—Epilogue

JB and I are officially an item. As in, the whole school knows and the whole town probably knows by now, too. Aunt Dawn can't stop teasing me every chance she gets. Argh…but I got back at her. 

Not that I, the perfect little angel, would _ever_ have replaced her styling mousse with Uncle Angel's hair gel and put Nair in the latter container.

That was this morning. 

The no-reflection thing would probably slow the process down a bit, so I'm guessing it'll be a little before dinnertime when I hear the scream from across town. And I think he's coming for dinner tonight, but I don't know if he'll still show. And if he did, I doubt anybody would be able to actually eat anything with all the laughing.

So all's good on the home front, even though just about everyone finds every opportunity possible to torment me about my newly dubbed boyfriend. Well, everyone but Dad. And he's not about to find out anytime soon…I hope.

Yep, everything's peachy. Mom's less depressed, more chipper. But not to the degree of black-magic-happy, so that's good. I've probably said this before, but earplugs really are a blessing. Especially when one has a French test the next day about verb tenses (pluperfect, past conditional…huh?) and needs a good night's rest.

Aunt Dawn's also getting along quite well in her room with Connor. Well, until she discovers her mousse tomorrow morning.

Uncle Xander is also getting along extremely well with JB's dad. And I still can't bring myself to think of him—much less write about him—as Uncle Oz. That sounds a little too much like incest for my liking…especially after reading that thousand-page Anne Rice book filled with that subject.

Anyway…

It's Tuesday…so where are all the demons? Where's the impending doom?

Ever since Mom decided to go patrolling, things have been really quiet in Sunnydale. A little _too _quiet, almost.

Oh well. Nothing bad has happened so far—

Oh, crap! Of course I had to go and jinx the whole thing. Ah well, something bad will probably show up tonight and try to kill us all—those of us that are alive, that is. Can you really kill somebody if they're already dead? I mean, I know you can. But is it still technically still considered killing them? Really, think about—

I'm starting to babble, and there's really no room left for me to write, so I'd better wrap this up.

Bad things will probably happen—but hello people, this is Sunnydale! We're full of bad happenings. The point is, no matter what the Hellmouth throws at us, we'll be able to triumph in the end.

'Cause, you know, that's a Slayer's job.


End file.
